Philip  Verrill  Mighels 


THE  FURNACE  OF  GOLD 


He  proceeded  to  pan  from  a  dozen  different  places  in  the  cove. 

Frontispiece 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 


BY 

Philip  Verrill  Mighels 

Author  of  "The  Pillars  of  Eden,"  etc. 


Illustrations  by 
J.    N.    Marchand 


New  York 

Desmond  FitzGerald,  Inc. 
Publishers 


Copyright,  1909.  by 
P.  V.  Mighels 

Copyright,  1910,  by 
Desmond  FitzGerald   Inc 

Att  Right*  Reserved 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I.  PRINCE  OR  BANDIT 

II.  INTO  THE  MOUNTAINS   . 

III.  A    RESCUE       .... 

IV.  CONGENIAL   COMPANY    . 

V.  VAN'S    PARTNERS    * 

VI.  THE    BATTLE 

VII.  AN  EXCHANGE  OF  QUESTIONS 

VIII.  A   NIGHT'S   EXPENSES    . 

IX.  PROGRESS   AND    SALT 

X.  THE   LAUGHING  WATER  CLAIM 

XI.  ALGY  STIRS  UP  TROUBLE 

XII.  BOSTWICK    LOSES   GROUND    . 

XIII.  A   COMBINATION    OF    FORCES 

XIV.  MOVING    A    SHACK 
XV.  HATCHING   A    PLOT 

XVI.  INVOLVING  BETH 

XVII.  UNEXPECTED  COMPLICATIONS 

XVIII.  WHEREIN  MATTERS  THICKEN 

XIX.  VAN  AND  BETH  AND  BOSTWICK 

XX.  QUEENIE  .... 

XXI.  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  ROPE 

XXII.  Two  MEETINGS  AFTER  DARK 

XXIII.  BETH'S  DESPERATION 

XXIV.  A  BLIZZARD  OF  DUST 

XXV.  A  TIMELY  DELIVERANCE 

XXVI.  THE   NIGHT  IN  THE  DESERT 
v 

M105414 


PAGE 
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211 


Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXVII.  TALL    STORIES     .        .        .        .        .220 

XXVIII.  WORK  AND  SONG         .  228 

XXIX.  SUSPICIOUS  ANSWERS    .         .                 .  235 

XXX.  BETH'S   ONE   EXPEDIENT    .        .        .  244 

XXXI.  McCoppET  BUSIES  His  MIND    .        .251 

XXXII.  THE  HARDSHIPS  OF  THE  TRAIL  .     ?  V  259 

XXXIII.  THE    CLOUDS    OF    TROUBLE    GATHER  266 

XXXIV.  THE  TAKING  OF  THE  CLAIM      '.      ?  I  275 

XXXV.  THE  MEETINGS  OF  Two  STRONG  MEN  282 

XXXVI.  VAN   RUNS  AMUCK    <{>";"*.     •"•'/  296 

XXXVII.  THE  PRIMITIVE  LAW   .       V-  <\       ;.  306 

XXXVIII.  BETH  MAKES  DEMANDS      .      ':.      </  313 

XXXIX.  ALGY'S  COOKING  AND  BETH'S  DESPAIR  322 

XL.  GLEN   AND   REVELATIONS    .      f\        .  337 

XLI.  SUVY  PROVES  His  LOVE      .       ^.         .  346 

XLII.  THE  FURNACE  OF  GOLD     .'«"''*'.•        .  357 

XLIII.  PREPARING  THE  NET  FOR  A  DRAW   .  369 

XLIV.  THE  ENGINES  OF  CLIMAX   .     **'.        .  375 

XLV.  THE  LAST  CIGARS      'pv.  .)    /..        .  391 

XLVI.  WASTED    TIME      &    /.  <r^y^'.        .  396 

XLVII.  A  TRIBUTE  TO  THE  DESERT  400 


VI 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

He   Proceeded   to   Pan   from   a   Dozen    Different 

Places  in  the  Cove        ....        Frontispiece 

PAGE 

His  Hold  Was  Giving  Way  .  .  30 

He  Struck  Like  a  Ruin  Falling  from  the  Sky  .  51 

The  Angry  Miner  Lurching  in  Closer  to  Shoot  .  96 
Forced  to  Remain  at  the  Border  at  the  Point  of 

Official  Guns 113 

"  Don't  You  Want  to  Give  This  Man  a  Chance?  "  169 

Beth  Felt  Her  Heart  Begin  New  Gymnastics  .  208 
Van  Was  in  Sight  and  the  Convict's  Breath  Came 

Quickly 267 

No  Corpse  Snatched  from  Its  Grave  Could  Have 

Been  More  Helplessly  Inert  ....  292 
"  Yesh,  He's  Broke  the  Law"  .  .  .  .311 

She  Asked  How  the  Line  Was  Working  Out  .  358 
Till  the  Mechanism  Burst,  He  Would  Chase  His 

Man  Across  the  Desert  384 


THE    FURNACE    OF    GOLD 

CHAPTER  I 

PRINCE    OR    BANDIT 

Now  Nevada,  though  robed  in  gray  and  white — 
the  gray  of  sagebrush  and  the  white  of  snowy  sum 
mits — had  never  yet  been  accounted  a  nun  when  once 
again  the  early  summer  aroused  the  passions  of  her 
being  and  the  wild  peach  burst  into  bloom. 

It  was  out  in  Nauwish  valley,  at  the  desert-edge, 
where  gold  has  been  stored  in  the  hungry-looking 
rock  to  lure  man  away  from  fairer  pastures.  There 
were  mountains  everywhere — huge,  rugged  moun 
tains,  erected  in  the  igneous  fury  of  world-making, 
long  since  calmed.  Above  them  all  the  sky  was 
almost  incredibly  blue — an  intense  ultramarine  of 
extraordinary  clearness  and  profundity. 

At  the  southwest  limit  of  the  valley  was  the  one 
human  habitation  established  thereabout  in  many 
miles,  a  roadside  station  where  a  spring  of  water 
issued  from  the  earih.  Towards  this,  on  the  narrow, 
side-hill  road,  limped  a  dusty  red  automobile. 

It  contained  three  passengers,  two  women  and  a 
man.  Of  the  women,  one  was  a  little  German  maid, 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

rather  pretty  and  demure,  whose  duty  it  was  to  enact 
the  chaperone.  The  other,  Beth  Kent,  straight  from 
New  York  City,  well — the  wild  peach  was  in  bloom! 

She  was  amazingly  beautiful  and  winning.  It 
seemed  as  if  she  and  not  the  pink  mountain  blossoms 
must  be  responsible  for  all  that  haunting  redolence  in 
this  landscape  of  passionless  gray.  Her  brown  eyes 
burned  with  glorious  luminosity.  Her  color  pulsed 
with  health  and  the  joyance  of  existence.  Her  red 
lips  quivered  with  unuttered  ecstacies  that  surged 
in  the  depths  of  her  nature.  Even  the  bright  brown 
strands  of  her  hair,  escaping  the  prison  of  her  cap, 
were  catching  the  sunlight  and  flinging  it  off  in  the 
most  engaging  animation.  She  loved  this  new,  un 
peopled  land — the  mountains,  the  sky,  the  vastness 
of  it  all ! 

For  a  two-fold  reason  she  had  come  from  New 
York  to  Nevada.  In  the  first  place  her  young  half- 
brother,  Glenville  Kent — all  the  kin  she  had  remain 
ing  in  the  world — had  been  for  a  month  at  Goldite 
camp,  where  she  was  heading,  and  all  that  he  wrote 
had  inflamed  her  unusual  love  of  adventure  till  she 
knew  she  must  see  it  for  herself.  Moreover,  he  was 
none  too  well.  She  had  come  to  visit  and  surprise 
him. 

In  the  second  place,  her  fiance,  Searle  Bostwick, 
he  who  was  now  at  the  wheel,  had  also  been  marooned, 
as  it  were,  in  this  sagebrush  land,  by  the  golden 
allurements  of  fortune.  Beth  had  simply  made  up 
her  mind  to  come,  and  for  two  days  past  had  been 


Prince  or  Bandit 

waiting,  with  her  maid,  at  the  pretty  little  town  of 
Freemont,  on  the  railroad,  for  Searle  to  appear  in 
his  modern  ship  of  the  desert  and  treat  her  to  the 
one  day's  drive  into  Goldite,  whither  he  also  was 
bound. 

The  man  now  intent  on  the  big  machine  and  the 
sandy  road  was  a  noticeable  figure,  despite  the  dust 
upon  his  raiment.  He  was  a  tall,  well-modeled  man 
of  thirty-five,  with  an  air  of  distinction  upon  him, 
materially  heightened  by  his  deep-set,  piercing  gray 
eyes,  his  firm,  bluish  jaw,  and  the  sprinkling  of  frost 
in  his  hair. 

He  wore  no  moustache.  His  upper  lip,  somewhat 
over  long,  bore  that  same  bluish  tint  that  a  thick 
growth  of  beard,  even  when  diligently  shaved,  im 
parted  to  his  face.  He  was,  indeed,  a  handsome 
being,  in  a  somewhat  stern,  determined  style. 

He  was  irritated  now  by  the  prospect  of  labor  at 
the  station.  Even  should  he  find  some  willing  male 
being  whose  assistance  with  the  tire  might  be  in 
voked,  the  task  would  still  involve  himself  rather 
strenuously;  and  above  all  things  he  loathed  rough 
usage  of  his  hands.  For  three  more  miles  he  cursed 
the  mechanism,  then  he  halted  the  car  at  the  station. 

A  shack  that  served  as  lodging-house,  saloon,  and 
dining-room,  a  shack  for  a  stable,  and  a  shack  for 
a  shed,  together  with  a  rough  corral,  comprised  the 
entire  group  of  buildings  at  the  place.  Six  or  eight 
fine  cottonwoods  and  a  number  of  twisted  apple  trees 
made  the  little  place  decidedly  inviting.  Behind  these, 

3 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

rising  almost  sheer  from  the  level  yard,  the  moun 
tains  heaved  upward  grayly,  their  vast  bulk  broken, 
some  hundred  yards  away,  by  a  yawning  rock  canyon, 
steep  and  forbidding. 

The  station  proprietor,  who  emerged  from  the  door 
at  sound  of  the  halting  machine,  was  a  small,  lank 
individual,  as  brown  as  an  Indian  and  as  wrinkled 
as  a  crocodile.  The  driver  in  the  car  addressed  him 
shortly. 

" 1  wonder  if  you  can  help  me  put  on  a  tire?  " 

The  lank  little  host  regarded  him  quietly,  then 
looked  at  the  women  and  drew  his  hand  across  his 
mouth. 

"  Wai,  I  dunno,"  he  answered.  "  I've  set  a  tire 
and  I've  set  a  hen,  but  I  wouldn't  like  to  tell  ye  what 
was  hatched." 

The  girl  in  the  tonneau  laughed  in  frank  delight — 
a  musical  outburst  that  flattered  the  station  host  tre 
mendously.  The  man  at  the  wheel  was  already 
alighting. 

"You'll  do,"  he  said.  "My  name  is  Bostwick. 
I'm  on  my  way  to  Goldite,  in  a  hurry.  It  won't  take 
us  long,  but  it  wants  two  men  on  the  job." 

He  had  a  way  of  thrusting  his  disagreeable  tasks 
upon  his  fellow  beings  before  they  were  prepared 
either  to  accept  or  refuse  a  proposition.  He  suc 
ceeded  here  so  promptly  that  the  girl  in  the  car  made 
no  effort  to  restrain  her  amusement.  She  was  radi 
antly  smiling  as  she  leaned  above  the  wheel  where 
the  two  men  were  presently  at  work. 


Prince  or  Bandit 

In  the  midst  of  the  toil  a  sound  of  whistling  came 
upon  the  air.  The  girl  in  the  auto  looked  up,  alertly. 
It  was  the  Toreador's  song  from  Carmen  that  she 
heard,  riotously  rendered.  A  moment  later  the  whis 
tler  appeared — and  an  exclamation  all  but  escaped 
the  girl's  red,  parted  lips. 

Mounted  on  a  calico  pony  of  strikingly  irregular 
design,  a  horseman  had  halted  at  the  bend  of  a  trail 
that  led  to  the  rear  of  the  station.  He  saw  the 
girl  and  his  whistling  ceased. 

From  his  looks  he  might  have  been  a  bandit  or 
a  prince.  He  was  a  roughly  dressed,  fearless-look 
ing  man  of  the  hills,  youthful,  tall,  and  as  carelessly 
graceful  in  the  saddle  as  a  fish  in  its  natural  element. 

The  girl's  brown  eyes  and  his  blue  eyes  met.  She 
did  not  analyze  the  perfect  symmetry  or  balance  of 
his  features ;  she  only  knew  his  hair  and  long  mous 
tache  were  tawny,  that  his  face  was  bronzed,  that 
his  eyes  were  bold,  frank  depths  of  good  humor  and 
fire.  He  was  splendid  to  look  at — that  she  instantly 
conceded.  And  she  looked  at  him  steadily  till  a  warm 
flush  rose  to  the  pink  of  her  ears,  when  her  glance 
fell,  abashed,  to  the  pistol  that  hung  on  his  saddle, 
and  so,  by  way  of  the  hoofs  of  his  pinto  steed,  to  the 
wheel,  straight  down  where  she  was  leaning. 

The  station-keeper  glanced  up  briefly. 

"  Hullo,  Van,"  was  all  he  said. 

The  horseman  made  no  reply.  He  was  still  en 
gaged  in  looking  at  the  girl  when  Bostwick  half 
rose,  with  a  tool  in  hand,  and  scowled  at  him  silently. 

5 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

It  was  only  a  short  exchange  of  glances  that  passed 
between  the  pair,  nevertheless  something  akin  to  a 
challenge  played  in  the  momentary  conflict,  as  if  these 
men,  hurled  across  the  width  of  a  continent  to  meet, 
had  been  molded  by  Fate  for  some  antagonistic 
clash,  the  essence  of  which  they  felt  thus  soon  with 
an  utter  strangeness  between  them. 

Bostwick  bent  promptly  to  his  labors  with  the  tire. 
The  girl  in  the  tonneau  stepped  past  her  maid  and 
opened  the  door  on  the  further  side  of  the  car.  Bost 
wick  stood  up  at  once. 

"  I  wouldn't  get  out,  Beth — I  wouldn't  get  out," 
he  said,  a  little  impatiently.  "  We'll  be  ready  to  go 
in  five  minutes." 

Nevertheless  she  alighted. 

"  Don't  hurry  on  my  account,"  she  answered. 
"  The  day  is  getting  warm." 

The  eyes  of  both  Bostwick  and  the  horseman  fol 
lowed  her  graceful  figure  as  she  passed  the  front 
of  the  car  and  proceeded  towards  the  orchard.  Above 
the  medium  height  and  superbly  modeled,  she  ap 
peared  more  beautiful  now  than  before.  She  had 
not  descended  for  a  change  of  position,  or  even  to 
inspect  the  place.  As  a  matter  of  fact  she  was  hop 
ing  to  secure  a  profile  view  of  the  bold-looking  horse 
man  on  the  pony.  Her  opportunity  soon  arrived. 
He  spoke  to  the  station  proprietor. 

"  Want  to  see  you  for  a  moment,  Dave,"  and  he 
rode  a  little  off  to  a  tree. 

Dave  ceased  helping  on  the  tire  with  marked  alac- 

6 


Prince  or  Bandit 

rity  and  went  to  the  horseman  at  once.  The  two 
engaged  in  an  earnest  conversation,  somewhat  of 
which  obviously  concerned  the  auto  and  its  passen 
gers,  since  the  lank  little  host  made  several  ill-con 
cealed  gestures  in  the  car's  direction  and  once  turned 
to  look  at  the  girl. 

She  had  halted  by  the  orchard  fence  from  which, 
as  a  post  of  vantage,  she  was  apparently  looking 
over  all  the  place.  Her  brown  eyes,  however,  swung 
repeatedly  around  to  the  calico  pony  and  its  rider. 

Yes,  she  agreed,  the  horseman  was  equal  to  the 
scene.  He  fitted  it  all,  mountains,  sky,  the  sense 
of  wildness  and  freedom  in  the  air.  What  was  he, 
then?  Undoubtedly  a  native — perhaps  part  Indian 
— perhaps 

There  was  something  sinister,  she  was  certain, 
in  the  glance  he  cast  towards  the  car.  He  was  armed. 
Could  it  be  that  he  and  the  station  man  were  road- 
agents,  plotting  some  act  of  violence?  They  were 
certainly  talking  about  the  machine,  or  its  owner, 
with  exceptional  earnestness  of  purpose. 

Bostwick  had  finished  with  the  tire. 

"  Come  along,  Beth,  come  along ! "  he  called  ab 
ruptly. 

No  sooner  had  she  turned  to  walk  to  the  car  than 
the  horseman  rode  up  in  her  path.  Her  heart  sank 
suddenly  with  misgivings.  She  halted  as  the  un 
known  visitor  addressed  himself  to  Bostwick. 

"  May  I  speak  to  you  a  moment  privately  ?  " 

Bostwick  bristled  with  suspicions  at  once. 

7 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"  I  have  nothing  of  a  private  nature  to  discuss 
with  you,"  he  answered.  "  If  you  have  anything 
to  say  to  me,  please  say  it  and  be  prompt." 

The  horseman  changed  color,  but  lost  no  whit  of 
the  native  courtesy  that  seemed  a  part  of  his  being. 

"  It  isn't  particularly  private,"  he  answered 
quietly.  "  I  only  wished  to  say  I  wouldn't  rush  off 
to  Goldite  this  morning.  I'd  advise  you  to  stay  here 
and  rest." 

Bostwick,  already  irritated  by  delay,  and  imper 
vious  to  any  thought  of  a  possible  service  in  the 
horseman's  attitude,  grew  more  impatient  and  far 
more  irritating. 

"  I  haven't  desired  your  advice,"  he  answered 
sharply.  "  Be  good  enough  to  keep  it  to  yourself." 
He  advanced  to  the  station  owner,  held  out  a  bill, 
and  added :  "  Here  you  are,  my  man,  for  your 
trouble." 

"  Heck !  "  said  the  lank  little  host.  "  I  don't  want 
your  money." 

Across  the  horseman's  handsome  visage  passed  a 
look  that,  to  the  girl,  boded  anything  but  peace. 
Bostwick's  manner  was  an  almost  intolerable  affront, 
in  a  land  where  affronts  are  resented.  However, 
the  stranger  answered  quietly,  despite  the  fact  that 
Bostwick  nettled  him  to  an  extraordinary  degree. 

"  I  agree  that  the  sooner  you  vamoose,  the 
prompter  the  improvement  in  the  landscape.  But 
you're  not  going  off  to  Goldite  with  these  ladies 
in  the  car." 

8 


Prince  or  Bandit 

Matters  might  still  have  culminated  differently  had 
Bostwick  even  asked  a  civil  "Why?  "  for  Van  was 
a  generous  and  easy-going  being. 

Beth,  in  the  road,  felt  her  heart  beat  violently,  with 
vague  excitement  and  alarm.  Bostwick  glared,  in 
sudden  apprehension  as  to  what  the  horseman  had 
in  mind. 

"Is  this  a  hold-up?"  he  demanded.  "What  do 
you  mean  ?  " 

The  rider  dismounted,  in  a  quick,  active  manner, 
and  opened  the  door  of  the  tonneau. 

"  You  wouldn't  have  thanked  me  for  advice,"  he 
replied ;  "  you  would  hardly  thank  me  more  for  in 
formation."  He  added  to  the  maid  in  the  car: 
"  Please  alight,  your  friend  is  impatient  to  be 
starting."  He  nodded  towards  the  owner  of  the 
auto. 

The  maid  came  down,  demurely,  casting  but  a 
glance  at  the  tall,  commanding  figure  by  the  wheel. 
He  promptly  lifted  out  a  suitcase  and  three  decidedly 
feminine-looking  bags. 

Bostwick  by  now  was  furious. 

"  It's  an  outrage !  "  he  cried,  "  a  dastardly  out 
rage  !  You  can  see  I  am  wholly  unarmed !  Do  you 
mean  to  restrain  these  ladies  here  by  force?  " 

The  horseman  slipped  his  arm  through  the  reins 
of  his  pony's  bridle,  surveying  Bostwick  calmly. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  desert  them  if  I  do?  I  have 
not  yet  ordered  you  to  leave." 

"  Ordered  me   to   leave ! "   echoed   the   car   owner 

9 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

fiercely.  "  I  can  neither  be  ordered  to  leave  nor  to 
stay !  But  I  shall  go — do  you  hear  ? — I  shall  go — 
and  the  ladies  with  me!  If  you  mean  to  rob  us, 
do  so  at  once  and  have  it  over !  My  time  is  precious, 
if  yours  is  not !  " 

Van  smiled.  "  I  might  be  tempted  to  rob  a  gentle 
man,"  he  said,  "  but  to  deprive  your  passengers  of 
your  company  would  be  a  charity.  Pray  waste  no 
more  of  your  precious  time  if  that  is  your  only 
concern." 

Beth  had  regained  a  shadow  of  her  former  com 
posure.  Her  courage  had  never  been  absent.  She 
was  less  alarmed  than  before  and  decidedly  curious 
as  to  what  this  encounter  might  signify.  She  dared 
address  the  horseman. 

"  But — but  surely — you  seem You  must  have 

some  excellent  reason  for — for  acting  so  peculiarly." 

He  could  not  repress  the  brightness  in  his  eyes  as 
he  met  her  half-appealing  gaze. 

"  Reason,  advice,  and  information  would  appar 
ently  be  alike  unwelcome  to  your  chauffeur,"  he  an 
swered,  doffing  his  hat.  "  He  is  eager  to  hasten 
on  his  way,  therefore  by  all  means  let  us  bid  him 
begone." 

Bostwick  grew  rapidly  wilder  at  each  intimation 
of  his  social  standing — a  friend  of  the  maid,  and 
Beth's  chauffeur!  His  impatience  to  proceed  with 
all  possible  haste  to  Goldite  was  consuming.  He 
had  not  intended  that  anything  under  the  sun  should 
delay  him  another  single  hour — not  even  Beth,  should 

10 


Prince  or  Bandit 

occasion  arise  to  detain  her.  Even  now  he  was  far 
more  concerned  about  himself  and  the  business  of 
his  mission  than  he  was  for  the  women  in  his  charge. 
He  was  much  afraid,  however,  of  the  horseman's 
visible  gun.  He  was  not  at  all  a  person  of  courage, 
and  the  man  before  him  presented  such  an  unknown 
quantity  that  he  found  himself  more  or  less  helpless. 
At  most  he  could  merely  attempt  a  bluff. 

"  You'll  pay  for  this !  "  he  cried  somewhat  shrilly, 
his  face  a  black  mask  of  anger.  "  I'll  give  you  just 
half  a  minute  to  release  these  ladies  and  permit  them 
to  go  with  me  in  peace !  If  you  refuse " 

The  horseman  interrupted. 

"  I  said  before  you  had  not  been  ordered  on  your 
way,  but  now  I've  changed  my  mind.  Don't  talk 
any  more — get  into  your  car  and  hike !  " 

The  gleam  in  his  eye  achieved  two  results :  It  cowed 
the  last  vestige  of  bravado  in  Bostwick's  composition 
and  ignited  all  the  hatred  of  his  nature.  He  hesi 
tated  for  a  moment,  his  lips  parting  sidewise  as  if 
for  a  speech  of  defiance  which  his  moral  courage 
refused  to  indorse.  Then,  not  daring  to  refuse  the 
horseman's  command,  he  climbed  aboard  the  car,  the 
motor  of  which  had  never  ceased  its  purring. 

"  You'll  pay  for  this ! "  he  repeated. 

The  girl,  now  pale  again  and  tremendously  dis 
turbed,  was  regarding  Bostwick  with  a  new,  cold 
light  in  her  eyes — a  light  that  verged  upon  contempt. 
She  had  never  seen  this  lack  of  courageous  spirit  in 
the  man  before. 

11 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"  But,  Searle !  You're  not  going — you're  not 
really  going,  like  this  ?  " 

It  was  the  horseman  who  replied. 

"  You  see,  his  time  is  precious.  Also  in  his  present 
state  of  mind  he  is  certainly  unfit  company  for — 
well,  for  Dave,  here,  a  man  who  loves  the  pure  white 
dove  of  peace."  The  station  owner  grinned.  Van 
turned  once  more  to  the  car  owner,  adding,  placidly : 
"  There,  there,  driver " 

Bostwick  broke  in  vehemently. 

"  I  refuse  to  abandon  these  ladies !  Your  conduct 
is  not  only  that  of  a  coward,  it  is " 

Van  looked  him  over  in  mock  astonishment. 

"  Say,  Searle,"  he  said,  "  don't  you  savvy  you've 
lost  your  vote  in  this  convention?  I  told  you  to  do 
these  ladies  the  kindness  to  sweeten  the  atmosphere 
with  your  absence.  Now  you  hit  the  trail — and  hit 
it  quick !  " 

Bostwick  looked  helplessly  at  the  girl. 

"  I  am  entirely  unarmed,"  he  said  as  before,  though 
she  knew  there  was  a  pistol  in  the  car.  "  This 
ruffian " 

The  horseman  cut  him  short. 

"  So  long,  Searle.  I  trust  you'll  meet  congenial 
company  on  the  road,  but  I  advise  you  even  now  to 
return  the  way  you  came." 

Bostwick  glared  at  him  vindictively,  but  impo- 
tently.  His  jaw  was  set  and  hard.  A  cold  fire  glit 
tered  in  his  eyes.  How  selfishly  eager  he  was  to  be 
started  on  his  way  not  even  the  girl  could  have 

12 


Prince  or  Bandit 

known.  Moreover,  some  sort  of  plan  for  the  horse 
man's  speedy  punishment  had  taken  possession  of  his 
mind. 

"  Have  courage,  Beth,"  he  said  to  the  girl.  "  Have 
courage." 

He  speeded  up  his  motor,  dropped  in  his  clutch,  and 
the  car  slowly  started  on  its  way. 


13 


CHAPTER  II 

INTO  THE  MOUNTAINS 

BETH  stood  perfectly  still  beside  the  road,  watching 
the  auto  round  the  hill  where  it  presently  disappeared 
from  view.  The  station  owner  picked  up  a  sliver 
of  wood  and  began  to  whittle  industriously.  The 
horseman  remained  with  his  bridle  reins  in  hand, 
amusedly  looking  at  his  captive.  The  maid  sat  down 
upon  the  suitcase,  dropped  her  skirt  in  a  modest  little 
manner,  and  cast  her  gaze  upon  the  ground. 

Beth  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Well,  Elsa,  I  hope  you  are  comfortable." 

"Yes,  Miss,  thank  you,"  said  the  maid. 

Thereupon  Miss  Kent  turned  to  the  horseman  and 
laughed.  Someway  she  could  not  feel  alarmed,  in 
the  presence  of  this  man  of  the  hills,  in  whose  eyes 
merry  devils  were  dancing. 

"  Isn't  this  absurd  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Searle  must  have  been  born  absurd,"  replied  the 
horseman,  once  more  removing  his  hat.  He  waved  it 
towards  the  station  host  imperiously.  "  Dave,  pre 
sent  me  to  the  lady."  And  as  Dave  floundered,  hope 
lessly  puzzled,  he  added :  "  Give  me  a  knock-down, 
man,  don't  you  savvy  ?  " 


Into  the  Mountains 

Dave  dropped  his  sliver,  snatched  off  his  hat,  and 
rid  himself  of  a  quid  of  something  strong — all  in  one 
convulsion  of  activity. 

"'Scuse  me,"  he  apologized,  approaching  nearer. 
"  Miss— Miss— Miss  Laffin'  Water,  this  is  Van.  His 
whole  name's " 

"  That's  enough,"  Van  interrupted.  "  I'm  grati 
fied  to  meet  you,  Senorita,  I'm  sure." 

He  extended  his  hand.  Beth  knew  not  what  to  do, 
wherefore  she  gave  him  her  own. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Van  ?  "  she  answered  tremu 
lously,  and  she  drew  her  fingers  back  again  at  once. 
"  If  you  don't  mind,"  she  added,  "  we  really  must 
continue  on  to  Goldite  as  soon  as  possible."  A  fleet 
ing  look  of  doubt  and  alarm  had  swept  all  the  mirth 
from  her  eyes.  After  all,  even  with  this  "  introduc 
tion  "  what  were  these  men's  intentions?  It  was  a 
grave  affair  to  be  halted  thus — to  be  practically  ab 
ducted — to  be  left  with  no  protection,  in  the  hands 
of  roadside  strangers,  one,  at  least,  of  whom  was 
certainly  inclined  to  be  lawless  and  outrageously  bold. 

The  horseman  regarded  her  seriously,  as  if  with 
a  certain  divination  of  her  worry.  Someway,  from 
the  look  in  his  eyes  her  confidence  returned,  she  knew 
not  why. 

"  Do  you  ride  ?  "  he  asked  her,  " — you  and  your 
maid?" 

"  Why,  yes — that  is "  she  addressed  the  maid 

on  the  suitcase.  "  Elsa,  can  you  ride — on  a  horse  ?  " 

Elsa  said :  "  Yes,  Miss,  if  it  is  part  of  my  duty." 

15 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

Beth's  composure  increased.  After  all,  it  was 
a  glorious  day,  the  horseman  was  handsome,  and  she 
had  wished  for  a  little  adventure — but  not  too  much ! 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?  "  she  asked  of  Van  more 
boldly.  "  We  were  perfectly  comfortable,  riding  in 
the  car.  If  you  really  intend  to  permit  us  to  go, 
why  couldn't  we  have  gone  on  as  we  were?  " 

Dave  started  to  answer. 

"  You  see,  Miss " 

Van  cut  in  abruptly. 

"  Never  mind,  Dave ;  this  isn't  your  pie."  To 
Beth  he  added :  "  If  you've  brought  any  particularly 
appropriate  garments  for  riding,  suppose  you  retire 
for  preparations.  Dave  will  tote  the  bags  inside  the 
house." 

"  You  bet  I  will ! "  said  Dave,  who,  as  Elsa  rose, 
took  suitcase  and  all  in  one  load. 

Beth  hesitated.  The  horseman  had  started  already 
for  the  stable  at  the  rear.  How  superbly  straight 
was  his  figure!  What  a  confident,  impudent  grace 
beset  him  as  he  moved !  How  could  it  be  possible 
for  such  a  man  to  be  other  than  a  gentleman — no 
matter  where  he  was  found?  Some  strange  little 
thrill  of  excitement  and  love  of  adventure  stirred  in 
the  girl's  full  veins.  Resistance  was  useless.  Come 
what  might,  she  was  helpless  in  the  hands  of  this 
man — and  he  seemed  a  person  to  be  trusted. 

"  Come,  Elsa,"  she  said,  bravely  deciding  to  face 
whatsoever  might  arise.  "  You  may  wear  the  second 
of  my  skirts." 

16 


Into  the  Mountains 

Fifteen  minutes  later,  therefore,  she  and  her  maid 
emerged  from  the  shack  attired  in  brown  cloth  and 
kahki,  respectively,  her  own  skirt  long  and  graceful, 
while  Elsa's  was  shorter  and  divided.  Aside  or  cross- 
saddle  Beth  was  equally  at  home  upon  a  horse — or 
always  had  been,  in  the  parks. 

Van  and  Dave  now  returned,  leading  two  extra 
ponies  from  the  stable.  One  was  a  bay,  accoutered 
with  a  man's  deep  Mexican  saddle,  whereon  was  se 
cured  a  coiled  lasso;  the  other  was  a  wiry  little  roan 
mare,  with  a  somewhat  decrepit  but  otherwise  sound 
side-saddle  tightly  cinched  upon  her  back. 

"  Our  stable  chamberlain  has  slipped  a  cog  on 
the  outfits  for  ladies  recently,"  said  Van  apologeti 
cally,  "  but  I  reckon  these  will  have  to  do." 

Beth  looked  the  two  mounts  over  uncritically. 
They  seemed  to  be  equally  matched,  as  to  general 
characteristics,  since  neither  appeared  either  strong 
or  plump.  She  said: 

"  Shall  we  ride  very  far  ?  " 

"  No,  just  a  pleasant  little  jog,"  replied  the  horse 
man.  "They  call  it  forty  miles  to  Goldite  by  the 
ridge,  but  it  isn't  an  inch  over  thirty." 

Thirty  miles  ! — over  the  mountains  ! — with  an  un 
known  man  and  her  maid!  Beth  suppressed  a  gasp 
of  despair  and  astonishment,  not  to  mention  trepida 
tion,  by  making  an  effort  that  verged  upon  the  heroic. 

u  But  we — we  can  never  arrive  in  Goldite  to 
night!  "  she  said.  "  We  can't  expect  to,  can  we?  " 

•"  Jt  takes  more  than  that  to  kill  these  bronchos," 

17 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

Van  cheerfully  assured  her.  "  I  can  only  guarantee 
that  the  horses  will  make  it — by  sunset." 

Beth  flushed.  He  evidently  entertained  a  very  poor 
notion  of  her  horsemanship.  Her  pride  was  aroused. 
She  would  show  him  something — at  least  that  no  horse 
could  make  this  journey  without  her! 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  and  advancing  to  the  roan 
she  addressed  herself  to  Dave.  "  Will  you  please 
help  me  up.  Mr.  Van  may  assist  my  maid." 

Dave  grinned  and  performed  his  offices  as  best 
he  could,  which  was  strongly,  if  not  with  grace. 
Van  shook  a  threatening  fist,  behind  his  captive's 
back.  He  had  meant  to  take  this  honor  to  him 
self. 

Fairly  tossing  the  greatly  delighted  little  Elsa  to 
the  seat  on  the  bay,  he  mounted  his  own  sturdy  ani 
mal  and  immediately  started  for  the  canyon  below, 
leaving  Beth  and  her  maid  to  trail  behind. 

The  girl's  heart  all  but  failed  her.  Whither  were 
they  going? — and  towards  what  Fate?  What  could 
be  the  outcome  of  a  journey  like  this,  undertaken 
so  blindly,  with  no  chance  for  resistance?  The  horse 
man  had  stubbornly  refused  a  reply  to  her  question ; 
he  was  calmly  riding  off  before  them  now  with  the 
utmost  indifference  to  her  comfort.  There  was  noth 
ing  to  do  but  to  follow,  and  resign  herself  to — the 
Lord  alone  knew  what.  The  little  roan  mare,  indeed, 
required  no  urging;  she  was  tugging  at  the  bit  to 
be  off.  With  one  last  look  of  helplessness  at  the 
station  and  Dave — who  someway  bore  the  hint  of 

18 


Into  the  Mountains 

a  fatherly  air  upon  him — she  charged  her  nerves  with 
all  possible  resolution  and  rode  on  after  her  leader. 

Elsa  permitted  her  broncho  to  trudge  at  the  tail 
of  the  column.  She  dared  to  cast  one  shy,  disconcert 
ing  little  glance  at  Dave — and  he  suddenly  felt  he 
would  burst  into  flame  and  consume  himself  utterly 
to  ashes. 

The  great  canyon  yawned  prodigiously  where  its 
rock  gates  stood  open  to  grant  the  party  admission 
to  the  sanctum  of  the  hills.  Sheer  granite  walls, 
austere  and  frowning,  rose  in  sculptured  immensity 
on  either  side,  but  the  trail  under  foot  was  scored 
between  some  scattered  wild-peach  shrubs,  inter 
spersed  with  occasional  bright-green  clumps  of  man- 
zanita.  The  air  was  redolent  of  warmth  and  fra 
grance  that  might  with  fitness  have  advertised  the 
presence  in  the  hills  of  some  glorified  goddess  of  love 
— some  lofty,  invisible  goddess,  guarded  by  her  moun 
tain  snows,  yet  still  too  languorous  and  voluptuous 
to  pass  without  at  least  trailing  on  the  summery  air 
the  breath  that  exhaled  from  her  being.  It  was  all 
a  delight,  despite  vague  alarms,  and  the  promise  ahead 
was  inviting. 

Van  continued  straight  onward,  with  never  so  much 
as  a  turn  of  his  head,  to  the  horses  in  the  rear.  He 
seemed  to  have  quite  forgotten  the  two  half-fright 
ened  women  in  his  wake.  Beth  had  ample  oppor 
tunity  for  observing  again  the  look  of  strength  and 
grace  upon  him.  However,  she  found  her  attention 
very  much  divided  between  tumultuous  joyance  in 

19 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

the  mountain  grandeur,  bathed  in  the  marvelously 
life-exciting  air,  and  concern  for  the  outcome  of  the 
day.  If  a  faint  suggestion  of  pique  at  the  manner 
in  which  the  horseman  ignored  her  presence  crept 
subconsciously  into  all  her  meditations,  she  did  not 
confess  it  to  herself. 

Elsa's  horrid  little  habit  of  accepting  anything 
and  everything  with  the  most  irresponsible  compla 
cency  rendered  the  situation  aggravating.  It  was 
so  utterly  impossible  to  discuss  with  such  a  being 
even  such  of  the  morning's  developments  as  the  re 
lationship  of  mistress  and  maid  might  otherwise  have 
permitted. 

A  mile  beyond  the  mouth  of  the  canyon  the  slight 
ascent  was  ended,  the  chasm  widened,  rough  slopes 
succeeded  the  granite  walls,  and  a  charming  little 
valley,  emerald  green  and  dotted  with  groups  of  quak 
ing  aspen  trees,  stretched  far  towards  the  wooded 
mountain  barriers  looming  hugely  ahead.  It  was 
like  a  dainty  lake  of  grass,  abundantly  supplied  with 
little  islands. 

The  sheer  enchantment  of  it,  bathed  as  it  was  in 
sun-gold,  and  sheltered  by  prodigious,  snow-capped 
summits,  so  intensely  white  against  the  intensity  of 
azure,  aroused  some  mad  new  ecstacy  in  all  Beth's 
being.  She  could  almost  have  done  something  wild — 
she  knew  not  what;  and  all  the  alarm  subsided  from 
her  thoughts.  As  if  in  answer  to  her  tumult  of  joy, 
Van  spurred  his  pinto  to  a  gallop.  Instantly  re 
sponding  to  her  lift  of  the  reins,  Beth's  roan  went 

20 


Into  the  Mountains 

romping  easily  forward.  The  bay  at  the  rear,  with 
Elsa,  followed  rythmically,  pounding  out  a  measure 
on  the  turf. 

A  comparatively  short  session  of  this  more  rapid 
locomotion  sufficed  for  the  transit  of  the  cove — that 
is,  of  the  wide-open  portion.  The  trail  then  dived 
out  of  sight  in  a  copse  where  pine  trees  were  neigh 
bors  of  the  aspens.  Van  disappeared,  though  hardly 
more  than  fifty  feet  ahead.  Through  low-hanging 
boughs,  that  she  needs  must  push  aside,  Beth  followed 
blindly,  now  decidedly  piqued  by  the  wholly  ungallant 
indifference  to  her  fate  of  the  horseman  leading  the 
way. 

She  caught  but  a  glimpse  of  him,  now  and  again, 
in  the  density  of  the  growth.  How  strange  it  was 
to  be  following  thus,  meekly,  helplessly,  perforce  with 
some  sort  of  confidence,  in  the  charge  of  this  un 
known  mountain  man,  to — whatsoever  he  might  elect ! 
The  utterly  absurd  part  of  it  all  was  that  it  was 
pleasant ! 

At  length  they  emerged  from  the  shady  halls  of 
trees,  to  find  themselves  confronted  by  the  wall  of 
mountains.  Already  Van  was  riding  up  the  slope, 
where  larger  pines,  tall  thickets  of  green  chincopin, 
and  ledges  of  rock  compelled  the  trail  to  many  de 
vious  windings.  Once  more  the  horseman  was  whis 
tling  his  Toreador  refrain.  He  did  not  look  back 
at  his  charges.  That  he  was  watching  them  both, 
from  the  tail  of  his  eye,  was  a  fact  that  Beth  felt — 
and  resented. 

21 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

The  steepness  of  the  trail  increased.  At  times  the 
meager  pathway  disappeared  entirely.  It  lay  upon 
rocks  that  gave  no  sign  of  the  hoofs  that  had  pre 
viously  rung  metallic  clinks  upon  the  granite.  How 
the  man  in  the  lead  discerned  it  here  was  a  matter 
Beth  could  not  comprehend.  Some  half-confessed 
meed  of  admiration,  already  astir  in  her  nature  for 
the  horseman  and  his  way,  increased  as  he  breasted 
the  ascent.  How  thoroughly  at  home — how  much  a 
part  of  it  all  he  appeared,  as  he  rode  upon  his  pony ! 

Two  hours  of  steady  climbing,  with  her  mare  ob 
lique  beneath  her  weight,  and  Beth  felt  an  awe  in 
her  being.  It  was  wonderful ;  it  was  almost  terrible, 
the  fathomless  silence,  the  altitudes,  this  heretofore 
unexperienced  intimacy  with  the  mountains'  very 
nakedness!  It  was  strange  altogether,  and  impres 
sive,  the  vast  unfolding  of  the  world  below,  the  fre 
quency  with  which  the  pathway  skirted  some  dark 
precipice — and  the  apparent  unconcern  of  the  man 
ahead,  now  so  absolutely  master.  And  still  that  soul- 
inviting  exhilaration  of  the  air  aroused  those  ecsta- 
cies  within  her  spirit  that  she  had  not  known  were 
there. 

They  were  nearing  the  summit  of  the  pass.  It 
was  still  a  thousand  feet  below  the  snow.  To  the 
left  a  mighty  chasm  trenched  the  adamant,  its  bot 
tom  lowered  away  to  depths  of  mysterious  blue.  Its 
side,  above  which  the  three  stout  ponies  picked  their 
way,  was  a  jagged  set  of  terraces,  over  the  brink 
of  which  the  descents  were  perpendicular. 

22 


Into  the  Mountains 

Rising  as  if  to  bar  the  way,  the  crowning  terrace 
apparently  ended  the  trail  against  all  further  ad 
vance.  Here  Van  finally  halted,  dismounted,  and 
waited  for  the  advent  of  his  charges. 

Beth  rode  up  uncertainly,  her  brown  eyes  closely 
scrutinizing  his  face.  It  appeared  as  if  they  had 
come  to  the  end  of  everything — the  place  for  leaping 
off  into  downward  space. 

"  Let  me  see  if  the  cinches  are  tight,"  said  the 
horseman  quietly,  and  he  looked  to  the  girth  of  her 
saddle. 

It  was  found  to  be  in  a  satisfactory  condition. 
The  girth  on  the  bay  he  tightened,  carelessly  pushing 
Elsa's  foot  and  the  stirrup  aside  for  the  purpose. 

His  own  horse  now  showed  unmistakable  signs  of 
weariness.  He  had  traveled  some  twenty  odd  miles 
to  arrive  at  Dave's  before  undertaking  this  present 
bit  of  hardship.  Since  then  Van  had  pushed  him 
to  the  limit  of  his  strength  and  speed,  in  the  effort 
to  reach  Goldite  with  the  smallest  possible  delay. 

If  a  sober  expression  of  sympathy  came  for  a 
second  in  the  horseman's  steady  eyes,  as  he  glanced 
where  his  pony  was  standing,  it  quickly  gave  way 
to  something  more  inscrutable  as  he  looked  up  at 
Beth,  in  advancing  once  more  to  the  fore. 

"  Both  of  you  give  them  the  reins,"  he  instructed 
quietly.  "  Just  drop  them  down.  Let  the  bronchos 
pick  the  trail."  He  paused,  then  added,  as  if  on 
second  thought,  "  Shut  your  eyes  if  you  find  you're 
getting  dizzy — don't  look  down." 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

Beth  turned  slightly  pale,  in  anticipation  of  some 
ordeal,  undoubtedly  imminent,  but  the  light  in  her 
eyes  was  one  of  splendid  courage.  She  might  feel 
they  were  all  at  the  gate  of  something  awful,  but 
her  nature  rose  to  meet  it.  She  said  nothing;  she 
simply  obeyed  directions  and  looked  with  new  emo 
tions  on  the  somewhat  drooping  mare  to  whom  her 
own  safety  was  entrusted. 

Van  was  once  more  in  his  saddle.  He  started,  and 
the  ponies  behind  resumed  their  faithful  plodding  at 
his  heels. 

A  few  rods  ahead  they  encountered  a  change,  and 
Beth  could  scarcely  repress  a  gasp  of  surprise  and 
apprehension.  The  trail  was  laid  upon  the  merest 
granite  shelf,  above  that  terrible  chasm.  She  was 
terrified,  frankly.  The  man  and  pony  in  the  lead 
were  cut  with  startling  sharpness  against  the  gray 
of  the  rock — the  calico  coloring,  the  muscular  in 
tensity,  the  bending  of  the  man  to  every  motion — 
as  they  balanced  with  terrifying  slenderness  above 
the  pit  of  death. 

For  a  moment  the  girl  thought  nothing  of  her 
self  and  of  how  she  too  must  pass  that  awful  brink, 
for  all  her  concern  was  focused  on  the  man.  Then 
she  realized  what  she  must  do — was  doing — as  her 
roan  mare  followed  on.  She  was  almost  upon  it 
herself ! 

Her  hand  flew  down  to  the  reins  to  halt  the  pony, 
involuntarily.  A  wild  thought  of  turning  and  fleeing 
away  from  this  shelf  of  destruction  launched  itself 


Into  the  Mountains 

upon  her  mind.  It  was  folly — a  thing  impossible. 
There  was  nothing  to  do  but  go  on.  Shutting  her 
eyes  and  holding  her  breath  she  felt  the  mare  beneath 
her  tremulously  moving  forward,  smelling  out  the 
places  of  security  whereon  to  rest  her  weight. 

Elsa,  sublimely  unresponsive,  alike  to  the  grandeur 
or  the  danger  of  the  place,  rode  as  placidly  here  as 
in  the  valley. 

They  passed  the  first  of  the  shelf -like  brinks,  trav 
ersed  a  safer  contour  of  the  wall,  and  were  presently 
isolated  upon  the  second  bridge  of  granite,  which 
was  also  the  last,  much  longer  than  the  first,  but 
perhaps  not  so  narrow  or  winding. 

Van  had  perspired  in  nervous  tension,  as  the  two 
women  rode  above  the  chasm.  Men  had  gone  down 
here  to  oblivion.  He  was  easier  now,  more  careless 
of  himself  and  horse,  less  alert  for  a  looseness  in  the 
granite  mass,  as  he  turned  in  his  saddle  to  look 
backward. 

Suddenly,  with  a  horrible  sensation  in  his  vitals, 
he  felt  his  pony  crumpling  beneath  him,  even  as  he 
heard  Beth  sound  a  cry. 

A  second  later  he  was  going,  helplessly,  with  the 
air-rush  in  his  ears  and  the  pony's  quiver  shivering 
up  his  spine.  All  bottomless  space  seemed  to  open 
where  they  dropped.  He  kicked  loose  the  stirrups, 
even  as  the  pony  struck  upon  the  first  narrow  terrace, 
ten  feet  down,  and  felt  the  helpless  animal  turned 
hoofs  and  belly  upward  by  the  blow. 

He  had  thrust  himself  free — apart  from  the  horse 

25 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

— but  could  not  cling  to  the  rotten  ledge  for  more 
than  half  a  second.  Then  down  once  more  he  was 
falling,  as  before,  only  a  heart-beat  later  than  the 
pinto. 

Out  of  the  lip  of  the  next  shelf  below  the  pony's 
weight  tore  a  jagged  fragment.  The  animal's  neck 
was  broken,  and -he  and  the  stone-mass  plunged  on 
downward  together. 

Van  half  way  fell  through  a  stubborn  bush — that 
clung  with  the  mysterious  persistency  of  life  to  a 
handful  of  soil  in  a  crevice — and  his  strong  hands 
closed  upon  its  branches. 

He  was  halted  with  a  jolt.  The  pony  hurtled 
loosely,  grotesquely  down  the  abyss,  bounding  from 
impacts  with  the  terraces,  and  was  presently  lost  to 
mortal  sight  in  the  dust  and  debris  he  carried  below 
for  a  shroud.  Sounds  of  his  striking — dull,  leaden 
sounds,  tremendous  in  the  all-pervading  silence — 
came  clearly  up  to  the  top.  Then  Van  found  his 
feet  could  be  rested  on  the  shelf,  and  he  let  himself 
relax  to  ease  his  arms. 


CHAPTER  III 

A    RESCUE 

BETH  had  uttered  that  one  cry  only,  as  man  and 
horse  careened  above  the  pit.  She  now  sat  dumbly 
staring  where  the  two  had  disappeared.  Nothing 
could  she  see  of  Van  or  his  pony.  A  chill  of  horror 
attacked  her,  there  in  the  blaze  of  the  sun.  It  was 
not,  even  then,  so  much  of  herself  and  Elsa  she  was 
thinking — two  helpless  women,  last  in  this  place  of 
terrible  silence;  she  was  smitten  by  the  fate  of  their 
guide. 

Van,  for  his  part,  looked  about  as  best  he  might, 
observing  his  situation  comprehensively.  He  was 
safe  for  the  moment.  The  ledge  whereon  he  was 
bearing  a  portion  of  his  weight  was  narrow  and 
crumbling  with  old  disintegration.  The  shrub  to 
which  he  clung  was  as  tough  as  wire  cable,  and  had 
once  been  stoutly  rooted  in  the  crevice.  Now,  how 
ever,  its  hold  had  been  weakened  by  the  heavy  strain 
upon  it,  and  yet  he  must  continue  to  trust  a  part 
of  his  weight  to  its  branches.  There  was  nothing, 
positively  nothing,  by  which  he  could  hope  to  climb 
to  the  trail  up  above. 

He  deliberately  rested  and  fostered  his  breath,  not 
a  trifle  of  which  had  been  jolted  in  violence  from 

27 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

his  body.      Presently  he  raised  his  voice  and  called 
out,  as  cheerfully  as  possible: 

"  Ship  ahoy !     Hullo — Miss  Laughing  Water !  " 

For  a  moment  there  was  no  response.  Beth  was 
to  utterly  overcome  to  speak.  She  hardly  dared  be 
lieve  it  was  his  call  she  heard,  issuing  up  from  the 
tomb.  She  feared  that  her  hope,  her  frantic  imagin 
ation,  her  wish  to  have  it  so,  had  conjured  up  a  voice 
that  had  no  genuine  existence.  Her  lips  moved, 
but  made  no  audible  sound.  She  trembled  violently. 

Van  called  again,  with  more  of  his  natural  power. 

"  Hullo !  Hullo !  Miss  Beth — are  you  up  there 
on  the  trail?" 

"Oh,  yes!  Oh!  what  shall  I  do?"  cried  Beth  in 
a  sudden  outburst  of  relief  and  pent-up  emotions. 
"Tell  me  what  to  do!" 

Van  knew  she  was  rather  near  at  hand.  The 
bridge  and  trail  were  certainly  no  more  than  twenty- 
five  feet  above  his  head.  He  could  make  her  hear  with 
little  effort. 

"  Brace  up  and  keep  your  nerve,"  he  instructed. 
"  We're  O.K.  up  to  date.  Just  ride  ahead  till  you 
come  to  the  flat.  Let  Elsa  hold  your  mare.  Can 
you  hear  me  plainly  ?  " 

"  Oh !  yes — yes — then  what  next?  "  replied  the  wor 
ried  girl. 

Van  resumed  calmly :  "  You'll  find  a  rawhide  rope 
on  Elsa's  saddle.  Come  back  with  that,  on  foot. 
Then  I'll  tell  you  what  to  do.  Don't  try  to  hurry ; 
take  your  time,  and  'don't  worry."  After  a  mo- 

28 


A  Rescue 

ment,  as  he  got  no  reply,  he  added :  "  Have  you 
started?" 

Beth  had  not  budged  her  mare,  for  terror  of  what 
she  must  do.  She  was  fortifying  all  her  resolution. 
She  answered  with  genuine  bravery: 

«  Yes— I— I'll  do  what  you  say." 

She  took  up  the  reins.  Her  pale  face  was  set,  but 
she  did  not  close  her  eyes  to  cross  the  dizzying  brink. 
The  mare  went  forward — and  Elsa's  bay  resumed  his 
patient  tagging,  up  to  and  past  the  fateful  place 
where  a  part  of  the  shelf-edge,  having  been  dislodged, 
had  let  Van's  pony  fall. 

For  ten  age-long  minutes  Van  waited  on  his  ledge, 
feeling  the  treacherous,  rotted  stuff  break  silently 
away  beneath  his  feet.  The  shrub,  too,  was  showing 
an  earthy  bit  of  root  as  it  slowly  but  certainly  re 
linquished  its  hold  on  the  substance  which  the  crevice 
had  divided.  The  man  could  almost  have  calculated 
how  many  seconds  the  shelf  and  the  shrub  could 
sustain  their  living  burden. 

Then  Beth  returned.  She  had  left  her  maid  with 
the  horses ;  she  held  the  lasso  in  her  hand.  To  creep 
on  foot  along  the  granite  bridge  was  taxing  the 
utmost  of  her  courage.  She  could  not  ascertain  pre 
cisely  where  it  was  that  the  horseman  was  waiting 
below.  She  was  guided  only  by  the  broken  ledge, 
where  pony  and  all  had  disappeared.  Therefore, 
she  called  to  him  weakly. 

"  Mr.  Van — Mr.  Van — where  are  you?  " 

Van's  heart  turned  over  in  his  breast. 

29 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"  Just  below  that  split  boulder  in  the  trail,"  he 
answered  cheerily.  "  Go  to  that." 

A  silence  succeeded,  then  he  heard,  in  tremulous 
accents : 

"  I'm  here — but  how  am  I  going  to  tie  the  rope?  " 

Van  answered  distinctly,  for  much  depended  on 
precision. 

"  Uncoil  it  first.  On  one  end  there's  an  eye  that 
runs  the  loop.  Open  the  loop  to  a  pretty  good  size 
and  slip  it  over  the  smaller  portion  of  the  boulder. 
Then  push  it  well  down  in  the  crevice,  and  pull  it 

tight." 

He  knew  that  the  rope  was  far  too  short  to  loop 
the  larger  rock  and  reach  his  hands.      He  waited 
while  he  thought  she  might  be  working — as  indeed 
she  was — and  presently  added :  "  Got  that  done  ?  " 
"  Yes,"  she  called.     "  Yes — but  are  you  sure — — " 
His  hold  was  giving  way.      He  answered  crisply: 
"  Now  drop  me  the  end.      Don't  wait !  " 
Beth  had  forgotten  all  danger  to  herself.       She 
had  ceased  to  tremble.      She  paid  out  the  rope  with 
commendable  promptness. 

"  Does  it  reach?  "  she  cried.      "  Can  you  get  it?  " 
He  could  not.      Though  sufficiently  long  it  was  ten 
feet  away,  on  his  right.      His  seconds  were  growing 
fearfully  precious. 

"  Just  shift  it  over,  more  towards  Elsa,"  he  called, 
still  calmly.  "  Move  it  about  ten  feet." 

It  began  to  approach  him  jerkily.  It  halted,  then 
once  more  it  moved.  The  shrub  in  his  grasp  gave 

30 


His  hold  was  giving  way. 


Page 


A  Rescue 

out  an  inch,  and  was  coming  from  its  anchorage. 
Then  his  fist  was  closed  on  the  rope. 

"All  right!"  he  called.  "Let  go— and  stand 
aside!" 

"  But— oh,  if  the  rock  shouldn't  hold !  "  cried  the 
girl.  "  Are  you  sure  it  won't  pull  over?  " 

He  was  not  at  all  certain  of  the  boulder.  This 
explained  his  directions,  "  stand  aside !  "  If  it  came 
— it  must  not  involve  the  girl.  There  was  nothing 
for  him  but  to  trust  to  its  weight  against  his  own. 
He  was  strong.  He  began  to  come  up,  bracing  a 
foot  against  the  crumbling  wall,  winding  the  rope 
around  one  of  his  legs — or  his  leg  around  the  rope, 
and  resting  whensoever  he  could. 

Beth  stood  there,  nearly  as  tense  as  the  rope.  Her 
brown  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  bedded  boulder;  her 
face  was  more  gray  than  its  bulk. 

At  the  edge,  where  the  lasso  impinged  upon  the 
granite,  small  particles  were  breaking  and  falling 
ominously.  Scarcely  daring  to  breathe,  as  she  felt 
how  the  man  was  toiling  up  from  the  maw  of  the 
chasm,  Beth  could  not  bear  to  look  where  he  must 
come — if  come  he  ever  should. 

It  seemed  an  eternity  of  waiting.  At  last,  when 
new  misgivings  had  seized  upon  her  heart,  she  heard 
his  labored  breathing.  Even  then  she  did  not  turn. 
She  feared  to  watch  his  efforts ;  she  feared  to  break 
the  spell.  A  minute  later  she  heard  his  even  voice. 

"  It's  a  wonderful  view — from  down  below." 

The  glad,  eager  light  in  her  eyes,  which  his  eyes 

31 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

met  from  the  brink,  put  strength  in  both  his  arms. 
He  came  up  to  safety  in  an  outburst  of  vigor  that 
was  nothing  short  of  magnificent. 

"  Oh ! "  said  the  girl,  and  she  leaned  against  the 
wall  in  a  sudden  need  for  support. 

"  I  really  had  no  intention  of — deserting  like  that," 
panted  Van,  with  a  smile  that  was  just  a  trifle  forced. 
"  But  it's  so  much  easier  to — drop  into  a  habit  than 
it — ever  is  to  get  out." 

She  made  no  reply,  but  remained  where  she  was, 
weakly  leaning  against  the  wall  and  slowly  regaining 
the  strength  she  had  lost  at  the  moment  of  beholding 
him  safe.  She  was  not  the  fainting  kind,  but  she 
was  human — womanly  human. 

Van  began  immediately  to  release  and  re-coil  the 
rope. 

"  Too  bad  to  throw  away  a  pony  like  that,"  he 
resumed  regretfully.  "  I  always  intended,  if  he  died 
a  Christian  death,  to  have  his  hide  tanned  for  a 
rug." 

He  was  saying  anything,  no  matter  what,  to  dis 
sipate  the  reactionary  collapse  into  which  he  feared 
the  girl  was  falling. 

"  Now  then,"  he  added,  when  the  rope  was  well 
in  hand,  "  we've  wasted  all  the  time  we  can  spare  on 
a  second-rate  vaudeville  performance.  Come  along." 


CHAPTER  IV 

CONGENIAL  COMPANY 

HE  started  ahead  as  he  had  before,  with  that  show 
of  utter  unconcern  towards  the  girl  that  was  abso 
lutely  new  to  her  experience.  Her  eyes  were  wide 
with  appeal  as  she  watched  him  striding  up  the  trail. 
For  herself  she  wanted  nothing;  but  her  womanly 
nature  craved  some  trifling  sign,  some  word  of  assur 
ance  that  the  man  was  uninjured — really  safe  again 
and  whole — after  that  terrible  plunge.  But  this 
from  the  horseman  was  impossible.  He  had  not  even 
thanked  her  for  the  rescue. 

"  You  horrid,  handsome  wretch ! "  she  murmured 
vexedly,  stimulated  to  renewed  activity  by  her  resent 
ment;  then  she  followed  along  the  narrow  way. 

They  came  to  the  flat,  beyond  the  wall,  where  Elsa 
sat  keeping  the  horses.  The  maid  looked  the  horse 
man  over  quite  calmly,  inquiring : 

"  What  for  dit  you  did  it — go  down  there  ?  " 

"  Just  for  ducks,"  said  Van.  He  halted  for  Beth's 
approach,  put  her  up  on  the  roan,  and  once  more 
strode  off  in  the  trail  ahead  with  a  promptness  that 
was  certainly  amazing. 

There  was  no  understanding  such  a  person.     Beth 

33 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

gave  it  up.  The  whole  affair  was  inexplicable — his 
attitude  towards  Searle  at  the  station,  his  abduction 
of  herself  and  the  maid,  and  this  trailing  of  the 
pair  of  them  across  these  terrible  places,  for  no  ap 
parent  reason  in  the  world. 

Her  mare  followed  on  in  the  tracks  of  the  muscular 
figure,  over  whom,  for  a  moment,  she  had  almost 
wished  to  yearn.  His  escape  from  death  had  been 
so  slender — and  he  would  not  even  rest! 

The  flat  was,  in  reality,  the  hog's  back  or  ridge  of 
a  lofty  spur  of  the  mountains.  Except  for  the  vast 
bluish  canyons  and  gorges  far  below,  the  view  was 
somewhat  restricted  here,  since  towering  summits,  in 
a  conclave  of  peaks,  arose  to  right  and  left. 

After  a  time,  as  they  swung  around  on  the  trend 
of  the  ridge,  they  came  abreast  a  mighty  gap  in 
the  mountains  to  the  left,  and  there,  far  down,  lay 
a  valley  as  flattened  by  perspective  as  the  unruffled 
surface  of  a  lake. 

Here  Van  presently  halted,  peering  down  and 
searching  the  vast  gray  floor  with  the  keenest  atten 
tion.  He  went  on  further,  and  halted  again,  Beth 
meanwhile  watching  his  face  with  increasing  curi 
osity. 

At  the  third  of  his  stops  she  gazed  no  more  on  the 
panorama  of  immensity,  but  rather  gazed  at  him. 

"What  is  it  you  expect  to  see?"  she  inquired  at 
last.  "Goldite  isn't  down  there,  is  it?" 

"  I'm  rather  expecting — if  I  haven't  miscalculated 
on  the  time There  he  is  now,"  he  answered,  still 

34 


Congenial  Company 

staring  afar  off  down  upon  the  valley.  He  raised 
his  arm  and  extended  a  finger  to  point  towards  the 
north-most  limit  of  the  level  stretch  of  land.  "  Do 
you  see  that  small,  dark  object  in  the  road?  That's 
a  road,  that  slender  yellow  streak  that  you  can 
follow." 

Beth  obeyed  directions  and  thereby  discerned,  with 
remarkable  clearness,  the  moving  object,  far  away 
below.  She  did  not  in  the  least  suspect  its  nature. 

"  Why,  yes — what  is  it  ?  "  she  asked  with  languid 
interest,  having  expected  something  more  significant. 
"  Is  it  some  small  animal  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  responded  Van.      "  It's  Searle." 

Beth  was  instantly  all  attention. 

"Not  Mr.  Bostwick,  in  his  car?  " 

Van  continued  to  study  the  gray  of  the  world-wide 
map. 

"  I  rather  wonder "  he  mused,  and  there  he 

halted,  presently  adding,  "  He's  climbing  a  hill.  You 
might  not  think  so,  looking  down  from  here,  but 
it's  steep  and  sandy,  for  a  car." 

She  was  watching  eagerly. 

"  And  he's  no  further  along  towards  Goldite  than 
this?" 

"  He's  had  some  tough  old  going,"  answered  Van. 
"  He's  in  luck  to "  then  to  himself,  as  he  con 
tinued  to  scan  the  scene  for  something  he  did  not 
apparently  find.  "  By  Jupe !  I'd  have  sworn  Matt 

Barger "  He  broke  off  abruptly,  adding  in  a 

spirit  of  fairness,  "  Searle  is  getting  right  up  to 

35 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

the  ridge  all  right.  Good  boy!  He  must  have  a 
powerful  motor  under  the — There!  By  George!  I 
knew  it !  I  knew  it !  Got  him !  right  there  in  the 
gravel!" 

The  girl  looked  suddenly  upon  him,  wholly  unable 
to  comprehend  the  sharp  exclamations  he  was  making. 

"  What  has  got  him  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she 
demanded  in  vague  alarm.  "  I  don't  see  what 
you " 

"  That's  Matt  every  time— I  thought  so,"  he  re 
sumed,  as  he  stepped  a  little  closer  to  the  girl. 
"  Don't  you  see  them? — those  lively  little  specks, 
swarming  all  around  the  machine?  " 

Beth  bent  her  gaze  on  the  drama,  far  below — 
a  play  in  which  she  knew  but  one  of  the  characters, 
and  nothing  of  the  meaning  of  the  scene. 

"  I  see — yes — something  like  a  lot  of  tiny  ants — 
or  something.  What  are  they? — not  robbers? — not 
men?" 

"  Part  men,  part  hyenas,"  he  told  her  quietly. 
"  It's  a  lot  of  State  convicts,  escaped  from  their 
prison,  two  days  free — and  desperate." 

She  was  suddenly  very  pale.  Her  eyes  were  blaz 
ing. 

"Convicts!       Out   of   prison?" 

"  A  good  long  way  out,"  he  told  her  watching, 
"  and  clever  enough  to  hike  for  the  mines,  with  the 
camps  all  full  of  strangers.  They  learn  to  be  good 
mixers,  when  they're  trying  to  escape." 

Beth  gazed  at  him  searchingly. 

36 


Congenial  Company 

"  You — knew  they  were  out — and  waiting  on  the 
road?" 

"  Everyone  knew  they  were  out — and  I  certainly 
thought  big  Matt  would  do  precisely  what  you  see 
he  has  done." 

"Matt?"  she  echoed. 

"  The  leader,"  he  explained,  "  a  clever  brute  as 
ever  worried  a  sheriff." 

She  was  not  in  the  least  interested  in  the  per 
sonality  of  the  convict  thus  described.  Her  mind 
had  flown  to  another  aspect  of  the  case — the  case 
involving  herself. 

"  And  this  was  why  you  wouldn't  let  us  go  in  the 
auto?  "  she  said.  "  You  expected  this?  " 

He  looked  at  her  quickly. 

"  Searle  wouldn't  take  my  advice,  you  know."  His 
eyes  were  once  more  merry.  "  What  could  I  do  ?  " 

"  But  Mr.  Bostwick  wouldn't  have  gone  if  you 
had  told  him ! "  she  said.  "  Oh,  I'm  surprised  you'd 
do  it — let  him  go  and  be  captured  like  that !  "  She 
was  looking  down  upon  the  silent  drama  intently  as 
she  added :  "  I  don't  see  why  you  ever  did  it !  " 

He  was  still  amused. 

"  Oh,  I  thought  perhaps  Searle  deserved  it." 

She  blazed  a  little. 

"  You  told  him  you  hoped  he'd  meet  congenial 
company  on  the  road.  You  didn't  mean " 

"  Guilty  as  charged  in  the  indictment.  I  guess  I 
did." 

"  Oh !  I  wouldn't  have  thought "  she  started, 

37 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

then  she  shivered  in  horror,  reflecting  swiftly  on  the 
fate  that  might  have  befallen  herself  and  Elsa  had 
they  too  been  captured  with  Searle.  It  was  all  ex 
plained  at  last — the  horseman's  earnest  talk  with 
Dave,  his  quiet  but  grim  refusal  to  permit  herself 
and  Elsa  to  remain  with  the  car,  and  the  hazardous 
ride  he  had  since  dared  compel  them  to  take  at  such 
peril  to  his  life !  And  now,  his  persistent  advance 
on  foot,  when  perhaps  he  was  painfully  injured !  He 
had  done  then  such  a  service  as  she  could  never  in 
her  life  forget.  His  treatment  of  Searle  had  per 
haps,  even  as  he  said,  been  deserved.  Nevertheless, 
Searle  was  much  to  her,  very  much,  indeed — or  had 
been — up  to  this  morning — and  she  was  worried. 

"What  do  you  think  they  will  do?"  she  added 
in  a  spirit  of  contrition  that  came  at  once  upon  her. 
"  They  must  be  terrible  men ! " 

"  They  won't  do  much  but  take  his  money  and 
clothes,  and  maybe  beg  for  a  ride,"  said  Van  re 
assuringly.  "  They'll  see  he  isn't  fit  to  kill." 

Beth  glanced  at  him  briefly,  inquiringly.  What 
a  baffling  light  it  was  that  played  in  the  depths  of 
his  eyes!  What  manner  of  being  was  he,  after  all? 
She  could  not  tell.  And  yet  she  felt  she  could  trust 
him — she  certainly  knew  not  why.  Despite  his  ways 
of  raillery  she  felt  he  was  serious,  true  as  steel,  and 
big  in  heart  and  nature. 

"  I  mustn't  forget  to  thank  you,"  she  murmured. 
"  I  mean  for  sparing  us — all  that.  I  do  thank  you, 
most  sincerely,  for " 

38 


Congenial  Company 

"  Never  mind  that,"  he  interrupted.  "  We're  go 
ing  to  be  late  to  lunch." 

He  turned  once  more  to  the  trail  and  started  off, 
in  his  active  manner,  together  with  a  thorough  in 
difference  as  to  what  became  of  Bostwick. 

Beth,  with  a  feeling  that  something  ought  yet  to 
be  done  for  Searle,  down  in  the  valley  with  the  con 
victs,  cast  one  helpless  glance  at  the  scene  of  the 
hold-up,  then  perforce  urged  her  pony  forward. 

Van  halted  no  more.  He  led  the  way  doggedly  on 
ward,  over  the  rises,  through  great  silent  forests, 
past  crystal  springs,  and  down  dark,  somber  ravines. 
At  a  quarter  of  one  he  emerged  from  a  gorge  upon 
the  level  acre  of  a  tiny  cove,  still  high  in  the  moun 
tains  fastnesses.  Here  he  let  out  a  whoop  like  an 
Indian,  its  echo  filling  all  the  place. 

An  answering  call  came  clearly  from  somewhere 
near  at  hand.  Beth  felt  a  sudden  alarm  to  know 
there  were  human  beings  near.  What  sort  they  were 
was  a  matter  entirely  of  conjecture.  Then  presently 
she  discovered  a  number  of  small,  rude  buildings,  and 
a  fair-sized  cabin,  planted  next  the  hill.  The  door 
of  the  latter  was  open.  A  tall  man  appeared  in  the 
frame. 

"  This,"  said  Van,  who  had  waited  for  the  girl 
to  ride  once  more  to  his  side,  "  is  the  Monte  Cristo 
mine — the  worst  false  alarm  that  ever  disfigured  the 
map." 


CHAPTER  V 


THE  Monte  Cristo  mining  property  comprised  a 
tunnel  in  the  hill,  a  glory  hole,  a  little  toy  quartz- 
mill — five  stamps  strong — the  bunk-house,  kitchen, 
blacksmith-shop,  stable,  corral,  and  four  human  be 
ings.  These  latter  were  a  Chinese  cook  named  Algy, 
a  Piute  Indian  half-breed  called  Cayuse,  and  two  rare 
souls — Napoleon  G.  Blink  and  "  Gettysburg  " — min 
ers,  and  boastful  old  worthies,  long  partnered  and 
beloved  by  Van. 

Just  at  present  the  tunnel  was  empty,  the  glory 
hole  was  deserted,  and  the  quartz-mill  was  silent.  The 
mine  had  proved  a  failure.  Van  had  expended  many 
thousands  of  dollars  and  ten  months  of  time  to  demon 
strate  the  facts ;  and  now,  in  possession  of  much  new 
experience,  an  idomitable  spirit,  two  tired  partners, 
and  a  brand-new  claim,  he  was  facing  his  fate,  as 
heretofore,  with  a  wonderful  boyish  cheer. 

Not  all  this  knowledge  was  vouchsafed  to  Beth 
when  she  and  her  maid  were  presently  put  in  posses 
sion  of  the  place.  With  the  utmost  gravity  Van 
introduced  her  by  old  Dave's  appellation,  Miss 
Laughing  Water.  The  maid  he  merely  called  Elsa. 

40 


Van's  Partners 

His  explanation  as  to  whence  they  hailed,  whither 
they  were  bound,  why  he  had  taken  them  in  charge, 
and  how  he  had  lost  the  pinto  pony,  was  notable 
chiefly  for  its  brevity.  He  and  his  charges  were 
hungry  and  somewhat  pressed  for  time,  he  announced, 
and  he  therefore  urged  Algy  to  haste. 

Dinner  had  been  promptly  served  at  twelve.  Algy 
was  therefore  in  despair — for  Algy  was  proud  of 
his  art.  He  still  had  good  red  beans,  most  excellent 
coffee,  corn-fed  bacon,  the  best  of  bread  and  butter, 
a  hunger-inspiring  stew  of  lamb,  white  potatoes,  fine 
apple  sauce,  and  superlative  gingerbread  on  hand  in 
great  abundance,  however,  but  in  spite  of  it  all  he 
spluttered. 

"  What's  mallah  you,  Van  ?  "  he  demanded  several 
times.  "  Wha'  for  no  tell  me  blingee  ladies?  How 
you  s'plose  I  gettee  dinner?  Sominagot,  you  come 
like  this,  that  velly  superstich." 

He  would  readily  have  laid  down  his  very  life  for 
Van,  but  he  laid  a  good  dinner  instead.  During 
its  preparation  Beth  and  her  maid  sat  down  on  a 
bench  beside  the  bunk-house,  in  the  presence  of  Cay- 
use,  Napoleon,  and  Gettysburg,  while  Van  led  the 
horses  to  the  stable  for  refreshment,  and  Algy  talked 
to  himself  in  pigeon  English. 

It  was  an  odd  situation  for  the  girl  from  New 
York,  but  she  found  herself  amused.  Both  Na 
poleon  and  Gettysburg  had  been  cast  for  amusing 
roles,  which  they  did  not  always  fill.  Neither,  as  might 
be  supposed  from  his  name,  had  ever  even  smelled  the 

41 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

faintest  suggestion  of  things  military.  Napoleon  had 
once  been  a  sailor,  or,  to  be  more  accurate,  a  river 
boatman.  He  was  fat,  short,  red-headed,  red-necked, 
red-nosed,  and  red-eyed.  His  hands  were  freckled, 
his  arms  were  hairy.  He  turned  his  head  to  one 
side  like  a  bird — and  promptly  fell  in  love  with  demure 
little  Elsa. 

Gettysburg  was  as  thin  as  Napoleon  was  fat.  He 
had  a  straggling  gray  beard,  a  very  bald  pate,  high 
cheek  bones,  and  a  glass  eye.  This  eye  he  turned 
towards  the  maid,  perhaps  because  it  was  steady. 
He  also  had  a  nervous  way  of  drawing  one  hand 
down  his  face  till  he  lowered  his  jaw  prodigiously, 
after  which,  like  the  handle  of  a  knocker,  it  would 
fall  back  to  place  with  quite  a  thump.  He  did 
this  twice  as  he  stared  at  Beth,  and  then  he  re 
marked  : 

"  Quite  a  hike  yit,  down  to  Goldite." 

" 1  suppose  it  is,"  said  Beth  in  her  interesting  way. 
"  How  far  is  it,  really,  from  here?  " 

"'Bout  twenty  miles  of  straight  ahead,  and  two 
miles  of  straight  up,  and  three  of  straight  down — 
if  a  feller  could  go  straight,"  said  Gettysburg 
gravely,  "  but  he  can't." 

Beth  looked  very  much  concerned.  She  had  hoped 
they  were  almost  there,  and  no  more  hills  to  climb 
or  descend.  She  felt  convinced  they  had  ridden 
over  twenty  miles  already,  and  the  horseman  had  as 
sured  her  it  was  thirty  at  the  most,  from  the  station 
so  far  behind  the  mountains. 

42 


Van's  Partners 

"  But — Mr.  Van  can't  walk  so  far  as  that,"  she 
said.  "  I'm  sure  I  don't  see  what " 

She  was  interrupted  by  the  reappearance  of  Van 
himself. 

"  Isn't  there  a  horse  on  the  place?  "  he  asked  his 
partners  collectively.  "  What  have  you  done  with 
the  sorrel?  " 

Gettysburg  arose.  "Loaned  him  to  A.  C.,  yis- 
tiddy,"  said  he.  "But  the  outlaw's  on  the  job." 

"  Not  Vesuvius? "  Van  replied  incredulously. 
"  You  don't  mean  to  say  he's  turned  up  again  un- 
slaughtered?" 

"  Cayuse  here  roped  him,  up  to  Cedar  flat,"  im 
parted  Gettysburg.  "  Cornered  him  there  in  natural 
corral  and  fetched  him  home  fer  fun." 

Napoleon  added :  "  But  Cayuse  ain't  been  on  board, 
you  bet.  He  likes  something  more  old-fashioned 
than  Suvy.  Split  my  bowsprit,  I  wouldn't  tow  no 
horse  into  port  which  I  was  afraid  to  board.  When 
I  was  bustin'  bronchos  I  liked  'em  to  be  bad." 

"  Yes,"  agreed  Gettysburg,  "  so  bad  they  couldn't 
stand  up." 

A  bright  glitter  came  for  a  moment  in  Van's  blue 
eyes. 

"  If  Suvy's  the  only  equine  paradox  on  the  place, 
he  and  I  have  got  to  argue  things  out  this  after 
noon,"  he  said,  "  but  I'll  have  my  dinner  first." 

Beth  was  listening  intently,  puzzled  to  know  pre 
cisely  what  the  talk  implied.  She  was  vaguely  sus 
picious  that  Van,  for  the  purpose  of  escorting  her 

43 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

on,  would  find  himself  obliged  to  wage  some  manner 
of  war  with  a  horse  of  which  the  Indian  was  afraid. 

Further  discussion  of  the  topic  was  interrupted 
now  by  the  cook,  who  appeared  to  announce  his  din 
ner  served.  Beth  and  her  maid  were,  therefore,  di 
rected  by  Van  to  a  table  set  for  two,  while  he,  with 
Napoleon  and  Gettysburg  for  company,  repaired  to 
a  place  in  the  kitchen. 

Beth  was  hungry.  She  ate  with  all  the  relish  of 
a  mountaineer.  Algy,  moreover,  was  a  kitchen  magi 
cian  in  the  art  of  transforming  culinary  common 
places  into  viands  of  toothsome  delight.  Elsa  be 
came  speechlessly  busy.  Despite  her  wishes  in  the 
matter,  Beth  could  hear  the  men  talking  beyond. 

"  So  them  convicts  has  hiked  over  this  way  al 
ready,"  said  the  voice  of  Gettysburg  distinctly. 
"  We  heard  from  A.  C.  about  the  prison  break,  but 
he  wasn't  on  to  which  ones  they  was." 

"  One  is  Matt  Barger,"  Van  informed  them.  "  He's 
the  only  one  I  know." 

"Matt  Barger!  Not  your  Matt  Barger?"  de 
manded  Gettysburg  sharply. 

Van  nodded.     "  Mine  when  I  had  him." 

Gettysburg  arose  excitedly. 

"  He  ain't  come  hunting  fer  you  as  quick  as  this?  " 
he  inquired  uneasily.  "  That  ain't  what's  fetched 
him  over  to  the  desert  ?  " 

"  Haven't  asked  him,"  answered  Van.  "  He  prom 
ised  to  look  me  up  if  ever  he  got  out  alive." 

"  Look  you  up  !  "    Gettysburg  was  obviously  over- 

44 


Fan's  Partners 

wrought  by  the  mere  intelligence  that  Barger  was 
at  liberty.  "  You  know  what  he'll  do !  You  know 
him,  boy!  You  know  he'll  keep  his  word.  You 
can't  go  foolin'  around  alone.  You've  got  to  be " 

"  Pass  the  beans,"  Van  interrupted.  He  added 
more  quietly :  "  Sit  down,  Gett,  and  shut  the  front 
door  of  your  face." 

Napoleon  was  eating,  to  "  keep  Van  company." 
He  pushed  away  his  plate. 

"  Just  our  luck  if  these  here  derelicts  was  to  foul 
us,  skipper  and  crew,"  he  observed  ruefully.  "  Just 
our  luck." 

Gettysburg  sat  down,  adding:  "Why  can't  you 
wait,  Van,  wait  till  the  whole  kit  and  boodle  of  us 
can  move  to  the  bran'-new  claim  ?  " 

Van  finished  half  a  cup  of  coffee. 

"  I  told  you  I  should  continue  on  without  delay. 
The  horses  will  probably  come  to-night  for  all  of 
you  to  follow  me  to-morrow." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  wait  and  go  with  us  ?  "  re 
peated  Gettysburg.  "  We'll  git  there  by  noon,  and 
you  ain't  got  nuthin'  to  ride." 

The  horseman  answered :  "  Suvy's  the  prettiest 
gaited  thing  you  ever  saw — when  he  gaits." 

"  Holy  toads !  "  said  the  older  man  apprehensively, 
"  you  ain't  sure  a-goin'  to  tackle  the  outlaw  to 
day? " 

"  I've  always  felt  we'd  come  to  it  soon  or  late," 
was  Van's  reply.  "  And  I've  got  to  have  a  horse 
this  afternoon.  We  can't  kill  each  other  but  once." 

45 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"  Supposen  he  stoves  in  your  pilot-house,"  said 
Napoleon.  "  What  shall  we  do  about  the  claim,  and 
all  this  cargo,  and  everything?" 

"The  claim?  Work  it,  man,  work  it,"  Van  re 
sponded.  "  What's  a  mining  claim  for  but  to  furnish 
good  hard  work  for  a  couple  of  old  ring-tailed  ga 
loots  who've  shirked  it  all  their  lives?  " 

"  Work  it,  yep,  but  what  on?  "  asked  Gettysburg. 
"  We're  as  broke  as  a  hatched-out  egg." 

"  Haven't  you  worked  on  shinbones  and  heavenly 
hopes  before?  "  inquired  the  busy  leader  of  the  part 
nership.  "  And  that  reminds  me,  Algy,  what  about 
you  ?  "  he  added  to  the  Chinese  cook.  "  We  can't 
afford  a  tippe-bob-royal  chef  of  your  dimensions 
after  this.  I  guess  you'll  have  to  poison  somebody 
else." 

"  What's  mallah  you,  Van  ? "  Algy  demanded 
aggressively.  "  You  makee  me  velly  sick.  You  get 
velly  lich  I  cook  your  glub.  You  go  bloke,  I  cook 
alle  same.  Sominagot,  I  b'long  go  with  you  all  time. 
You  no  got  good  luck  I  never  want  the  money,  you 
savvy?  You  go  hell — go  anywhere — I  go  same 
place — that's  all.  You  talkee  big  fool,  that  velly 
superstich."  He  looked  at  Van  fiercely  to  disguise 
a  great  alarm,  a  fear  that  he  might,  after  all,  be 
dismissed  in  the  break-up  impending. 

Van  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Sentenced  for  life.  All  right,  Algy,  if  your 
cooking  kills  us  off,  at  least,  as  the  brave  young 
husband  remarked,  it  will  all  be  in  the  family." 

46 


Fan's  Partners 

Algy  still  looked  as  fierce  as  one  of  his  heathen 
idols. 

"  You  t'ink  velly  smart,"  he  said,  still  concealing 
his  feelings.  "  Lats !  "  and  with  that  he  went  out 
to  chop  some  wood. 

"  Batten  me  into  the  pantry  1 "  said  Napoleon. 
"  I'll  bet  old  Algy'd  board  the  outlaw  himself,  fer 
you,  Van,  squall  and  all." 

"That  horse  ain't  human,"  Gettysburg  exploded 
anew.  "  Van,  you  can't  ride  no  such  Fourth-of-July 
procession !  " 

"  Shut  up ! "  murmured  Van,  with  a  gesture  to 
wards  the  room  where  Beth  and  her  maid  were  dining. 
He  added  aloud :  "  The  chances  are  we'll  find  he's  a 
cheap  Sunday-school  picnic.  Napoleon,  you  and 
Cayuse  go  out  and  prepare  his  mind  for  work." 

"  Aye,  aye,"  said  Napoleon  rising  to  go,  "  but  I 
wish  we  had  some  soothin'  syrup,  skipper." 

He  and  the  Indian  were  heard  to  depart,  by  Beth, 
sitting  back  in  her  chair.  She  was  greatly  alarmed 
by  all  she  had  heard  of  vengeful  convicts  and  the 
vicious  horse,  and  could  eat  no  more  for  nervous 
dread. 

"  That  horse  has  killed  his  man,  and  you  know  it," 
said  Gettysburg  in  a  whisper  that  the  girl  distinctly 
overhead.  "  Boy,  boy,  let  the  Injun  ride  him  first." 

"  There,  there,  ease  off,"  Van  answered  quietly. 
"You  keep  the  women  entertained  about  the  mill 
while  Suvy  and  I  are  debating." 

He  gulped  down  a  last  drink  of  coffee,  silenced  the 

47 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

miner's  further  remonstrances,  and  departed  by  way 
of  the  kitchen  door. 

Beth  arose  hurriedly  and  hastened  forth,  intent 
upon  immediate  prevention,  if  possible,  of  any  further 
ordeals  undertaken  in  behalf  of  herself.  She  was 
thoroughly  frightened.  A  prescience  of  something  om 
inous  impending  seemed  to  grip  her  very  heart.  She 
glanced  about,  helplessly,  unfamiliar  with  the  place. 
Van  was  nowhere  in  sight.  She  started  to  run  around 
the  cabin  when  Gettysburg  appeared  in  her  path. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  he  nervously,  "  now  who'd  a- 
thought  you'd  finished  eatin'  ?  " 

"  Oh  please,"  she  said,  "  please  go  tell  Mr.  Van 
I'd  rather  he  wouldn't  attempt  to  ride  any  horse 
again  to-day.  Will  you  please  go  tell  him  that?  " 

"  You  bet  your  patent  leathers ! "  said  Gettysburg. 
"  You  just  go  over  and  globe-trot  the  quartz-mill 
while  I'm  gone,  and  we'll  fix  things  right  in  a  shake." 

He  strode  off  in  haste.  Beth  watched  him  go. 
She  made  no  move  towards  the  quartz-mill,  which 
Gettysburg  had  indicated,  over  on  the  slope. 

She  soon  grew  restive,  awaiting  his  return.  Elsa 
came  out  and  sat  down.  The  old  miner  failed  to 
reappear. 

At  length,  unable  to  endure  any  longer  her  feeling 
of  alarm  and  suspense,  Beth  resolutely  followed  where 
Gettysburg  had  gone,  and  soon  came  in  sight  of 
the  stable  and  high  corral.  Then  her  heart  struck 
a  blow  of  excitement  in  her  breast,  and  her  knees  be 
gan  to  weaken  beneath  her. 

48 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE    BATTLE 

Too  late  to  interfere  in  the  struggle  about  to  be 
enacted,  the  girl  stood  rigidly  beside  a  great  red 
pine  tree,  fixing  her  gaze  upon  Van,  on  whose  heels, 
as  he  walked,  jingled  a  glinting  pair  of  spurs. 

From  the  small  corral  he  was  leading  forth  as 
handsome  an  animal  as  Beth  had  ever  seen,  already 
saddled,  bridled — and  blindfolded.  The  horse  was 
a  chestnut,  magnificently  sculptured  and  muscled. 
He  was  of  medium  size,  and  as  trim  and  hard  as  a 
nail.  His  coat  fairly  glistened  in  the  sun. 

Despite  his  beauty  there  was  something  about  him 
that  betokened  menace.  It  was  not  altogether  that 
the  men  all  stood  away — all  save  Van — nor  yet  that 
the  need  for  a  blindfold  argued  danger  in  his  com 
position.  There  was  something  acutely  disquieting 
in  the  backward  folding  of  his  ears,  the  quiver  of 
his  sinews,  the  reluctant  manner  of  his  stepping. 

Beth  did  not  and  could  not  know  that  an  "  outlaw  " 
is  a  horse  so  utterly  abandoned  to  ways  of  broncho 
crime  and  equine  deviltry  that  no  man  is  able  to 
break  him — that  having  conquered  man  after  man, 
perhaps  even  with  fatal  results  to  his  riders,  he  has 

49 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

become  absolutely  depraved  and  impossible  of  sub 
mission.  She  only  knew  that  her  heart  was  beating 
rapidly,  painfully,  that  her  breath  came  in  gasps, 
that  her  whole  nervous  system  was  involved  in  some 
manner  of  anguish.  She  saw  the  Chinese  cook  run 
past  to  witness  the  game,  but  all  her  faculties  were 
focused  on  the  man  and  horse — both  sinister,  tense, 
and  grim. 

Van  had  not  turned  in  Beth's  direction.  He  was 
wholly  unaware  of  her  presence.  He  halted  when 
the  horse  was  well  out  towards  the  center  of  the  open, 
and  the  outlaw  braced  awkwardly,  as  if  to  receive 
an  attack. 

With  the  bridle  reins  held  in  his  hand  at  the  pom 
mel  of  the  saddle,  Van  stood  for  a  moment  by  the 
chestnut's  side,  then,  with  incredible  celerity  of  move 
ment,  suddenly  placed  his  foot  in  the  stirrup  and 
was  up  and  well  seated  before  the  blinded  pony  could 
have  moved. 

Nothing  happened.  No  one  made  a  sound.  No 
one,  apparently,  save  Beth,  had  expected  anything 
to  happen.  She  felt  a  rush  of  relief — that  came 
prematurely. 

Van  now  leaned  forward,  as  the  horse  remained 
stiffly  braced,  and  slipping  the  blindfold  from  the 
pony's  eyes,  sat  back  in  the  saddle  alertly. 

Even  then  the  chestnut  did  not  move.  He  had 
gone  through  this  ordeal  many  times  before.  He 
had  often  been  mounted — but  not  for  long  at  a  time. 
He  had  even  been  exhausted  by  a  stubborn  "  broncho 

50 


He  struck  like  a  ruin  falling  from  the  sky. 


Page  51 


The  Battle 

buster  " — some  hardy  human  burr  who  could  ride  a 
crazy  comet — but  always  he  had  won  in  the  end.  In 
a  word  he  had  earned  his  sobriquet,  which  in  broncho- 
land  is  never  lightly  bestowed. 

Van  was  not  in  the  least  deceived.  However,  he 
was  eager  for  the  conflict  to  begin.  He  had  no 
time  to  waste.  He  snatched  off  his  hat,  let  out  a 
wild,  shrill  yell,  dug  with  his  spurs  and  struck  the 
animal  a  resounding  slap  on  the  flank,  that,  like  a 
fulminate,  suddenly  detonated  the  pent-up  explosives 
in  the  beast. 

He  "  lit  into  "  bucking  of  astounding  violence  with 
the  quickness  of  dynamite. 

It  was  terrific.  For  a  moment  Beth  saw  nothing 
but  a  mad  grotesquerie  of  horse  and  man,  almost 
ludicrously  unnatural,  and  crazed  with  eccentric 
motion. 

The  horse  shot  up  in  the  air  like  a  loose,  distorted 
piece  of  statuary,  blown  from  its  pedestal  by  some 
gigantic  disturbance.  He  appeared  to  buckle  in  his 
mid-air  leap  like  a  bended  thing  of  metal,  then 
dropped  to  the  earth,  stiff-legged  as  an  iron  image, 
to  bound  up  again  with  mad  and  furious  gyrations 
that  seemed  to  the  girl  to  twist  both  horse  and  rider 
into  one  live  mass  of  incongruity. 

He  struck  like  a  ruin,  falling  from  the  sky,  went 
up  again  with  demon-like  activity,  once  more  de 
scended — once  more  hurtled  wildly  aloft — and  re 
peated  this  maneuver  with  a  swiftness  utterly  be 
wildering. 

51 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

Had  some  diabolical  wind,  together  with  a  huge, 
volcanic  force,  taken  insane  possession  of  the  animal, 
to  fire  him  skyward,  whirl  him  about,  thrash  him  down 
viciously  and  fling  him  up  again,  time  after  time, 
he  could  not  have  churned  with  greater  violence. 

He  never  came  down  in  the  same  place  twice,  but 
he  always  came  down  stiff-legged.  The  jolt  was 
sickening.  All  about,  in  a  narrow,  earth-cut  circle 
he  bucked,  beginning  to  grunt  and  warm  to  his  work 
and  hence  to  increase  the  deviltry  and  malice  of  his 
actions. 

Van  had  yelled  but  that  once.  He  saw  nothing, 
knew  nothing,  save  a  dizzy  world,  abruptly  gone 
crazy  about  him. 

To  Beth  it  seemed  as  if  the  horror  would  never 
have  an  end.  One  glimpse  she  had  of  Van's  white 
face,  but  nothing  could  it  tell  of  his  strength  or 
the  lack  thereof.  She  felt  she  must  look  and  look 
till  he  was  killed.  There  could  be  no  other  issue, 
she  was  sure.  And  for  herself  there  could  be  no 
escape  from  the  awful  fascination  of  the  merciless 
brute,  inflicting  this  torture  on  the  man. 

It  did  end,  however,  rather  unexpectedly — that 
particular  phase  of  the  conflict.  The  horse  grew 
weary  of  the  effort,  made  in  vain,  to  dislodge  the 
stubborn  torment  on  his  back.  He  changed  the 
program  with  the  deadliest  of  all  a  broncho's  tricks. 

Pausing  for  the  briefest  part  of  a  second,  while 
Van  must  certainly  have  been  reeling  with  hideous 
motion  and  jolt,  the  chestnut  quickly  reared  on  high, 

52 


The  Battle 

to  drop  himself  clean  over  backwards.  It  was  thus 
that  once  he  had  crushed  the  life  from  a  rider. 

u  Oh ! "  screamed  Beth,  and  she  sank  beside  the 
tree. 

The  men  all  yelled.      They  were  furious  and  afraid. 

With  hoofs  wildly  flaying  the  air,  while  he  loomed 
tall  and  unreal  in  such  an  attitude,  the  broncho  hung 
for  a  moment  in  mid-poise,  then  dropped  over  sheer 
— as  if  to  be  shattered  into  fragments. 

But  a  mass  of  the  bronze-like  group  was  detached, 
and  fell  to  one  side,  on  its  thigh.  It  was  Van.  He 
had  seen  what  was  coming  in  time. 

Instantly  up,  as  the  brute  rolled  quickly  to  arise, 
he  leaped  in  the  saddle,  the  horn  of  which  had 
snapped,  and  he  and  the  chestnut  came  erect  to 
gether,  as  if  miraculously  the  equestrian  group  had 
been  restored. 

u  Yi !  Yi !  "  he  yelled,  like  the  madman  he  was — 
mad  with  the  heat  of  the  fight — and  he  dug  in  his 
spurs  with  vicious  might. 

Back  to  it  wildly,  with  fury  increased,  the  broncho 
leaped  responsively. 

Here,  there,  all  the  field  over,  the  demon  thrashed, 
catapulting  incredibly.  He  tried  new  tricks,  in 
vented  new  volcanics  of  motion,  developed  new  whirl 
winds  of  violence. 

Once  more,  then,  as  he  had  on  the  first  occasion, 
the  beast  reared  up  and  fell  backward  to  the  earth. 
Once  more  Van  dropped  away  from  his  bulk  and 
caught  him  before  he  could  rise.  This  time,  however, 

53 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

he  did  not  immediately  mount — and  the  men  went 
running  to  his  side. 

"  Fer  God's  sake,  boy,  let  me  kill  the  brute !  "  cried 
Gettysburg  taking  up  a  club. 

"  I'll  shoot  him !  I'll  shoot  him !  I'll  shoot  him !  " 
said  Napoleon  wildly,  but  without  any  weapon  in  his 
hands. 

Beth  beheld  and  heard  it  all.  She  was  once  more 
standing  rigidly  by  her  tree,  unable  to  move  or  speak. 
She  wished  to  run  to  Van  as  the  men  had  run,  but 
not  to  slay  the  broncho — only  to  beg  the  horseman 
not  to  mount  again. 

She  saw  him  push  the  men  away  and  stand  like 
the  broncho's  guard.  His  face  was  streaked  with 
blood — his  blood — jolted  alike  from  his  mouth  and 
nose  by  the  shocks  to  which  he  had  been  subjected. 

"  Let  the  horse  alone ! "  he  commanded  roughly. 
"  Good  stuff  in  this  broncho — somewhere.  Get  me  a 
bottle  of  water,  right  away — a  big  one — get  it  full." 

His  partners  started  at  once  to  raise  objections. 
The  Indian  stood  by  stolidly  looking  on. 

"  You  can't  go  no  further,  Van,  you  can't " 

started  Gettysburg. 

"  Sominagot !  Una  ma,  hong  oy !  Una  ca  see 
f  ut !  "  said  the  Chinese  cook,  swearing  vehemently 
in  the  language  likeliest  to  count,  and  he  ran  at 
once  towards  the  kitchen. 

Van  was  replacing  the  blindfold  on  the  broncho's 
eyes.  The  animal  was  panting,  sweating,  quivering 
in  every  muscle.  His  ears  went  backward  and  for- 

54 


The  Battle 

ward  rapidly.  The  blindfold  shut  out  a  wild,  un 
reasoning  challenge  and  defiance  that  burned  like  a 
torch  in  his  eyes. 

Algy  came  running  with  a  big  bottle,  filled  and 
corked. 

"  Fer  God's  sake,  leave  me  kill  him !  "  Gettysburg 
was  repeating  automatically.  "  Van,  if  you  ain't 
got  no  respect  fer  yourself,  ain't  you  got  none  left 
f er  us  old  doggone  cusses  ?  " 

"  Give  me  the  bottle,  Algy,"  Van  replied.  "  You're 
the  only  game  sport  on  the  ranch." 

Still  he  did  not  discover  Beth.  His  attentions  were 
engrossed  by  the  horse.  He  was  dizzy,  dazed,  but  a 
dogged  master  still  of  his  forces.  Up  he  mounted 
to  the  saddle  again,  the  bottle  held  firmly  in  his  grasp. 

"  Slip  off  the  blinder,"  he  said  to  his  friends,  and 
Algy  it  was  who  obeyed. 

"  Damn  you,  now  you  buck ! "  cried  Van  wildly, 
and  his  heels  ignited  the  volcano. 

For  five  solid  minutes  the  broncho  redoubled  his 
scheme  of  demoniac  fury.  Then  he  poised,  let  out 
a  shrill  scream  of  challenge,  and  abruptly  raised  to 
repeat  the  backward  fall. 

Up,  up  he  went,  an  ungainly  sight,  and  then — 
the  heavens  split  in  twain. 

He  was  only  well  lifted  from  the  earth  when,  with 
a  thunderous,  terrible  blow,  Van  crashed  the  bottle 
downward,  fairly  between  his  ears,  and  burst  it  on  his 
skull. 

The  weapon  was  shattered  with  a  frightening  thud. 

55 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

Red  pieces  of  glass  and  streaming  water  poured  in 
a  cataract  down  across  the  broncho's  eyes  as  if  very 
doom  itself  had  suddenly  cracked.  A  cataclysm 
could  not  have  been  more  horrible.  An  indescribable 
fright  and  awe  overwhemed  the  brutish  mind  as  with 
a  cloud  of  lead. 

Down  swiftly  he  dropped  to  his  proper  position, 
perhaps  with  a  fear  that  his  crown  was  gaping  open 
from  impact  with  the  sky.  He  was  stunned  by  the 
blow  upon  his  brain,  and  weakened  in  every  fiber.  He 
started  to  run,  in  terror  of  the  thing,  and  the  being 
still  solid  in  the  saddle.  Wildly  he  went  around  the 
cove,  in  the  panic  of  utter  defeat. 

The  men  began  to  cheer,  their  voices  choked  and 
hoarse.  Van  rode  now  as  fate  might  ride  the  very  devil. 
He  spurred  the  horse  to  furious,  exhausting  speed, 
guiding  him  wildly  around  the  mountain  theater. 
Again  and  again  they  circled  the  grassy  arena,  till 
foam  and  lather  whitened  the  broncho's  flank,  chest, 
and  mouth,  and  his  nostril  burned  red  as  living  flame. 

When  at  last  the  animal,  weary  and  undone,  would 
have  sobered  down  to  a  trot  or  walk,  Van  forced  him 
anew  to  crazy  speed.  At  least  five  miles  he  drove 
him  thus,  till  the  broncho's  sides,  like  the  rider's  face, 
were  red  with  blood  mingled  with  sweat. 

Beth,  at  the  climax,  had  gone  down  suddenly,  lean 
ing  against  the  tree.  She  had  not  fainted,  but  was 
far  too  weak  to  stand.  Her  eyes  only  moved.  She 
watched  the  two,  that  seemed  welded  into  one,  go 
racing  madly  against  fatigue. 

56 


The  Battle 

At  last  she  beheld  the  look  of  the  conquered — the 
utter  surrender  of  the  broken  and  subdued — gleam 
dully  from  the  wilted  pony's  eyes.  She  pitied  the 
animal  she  had  feared  and  hated  but  a  few  brief 
moments  before.  She  began  to  think  that  the  man 
was  perhaps  the  brute,  after  all,  to  ride  the  exhausted 
creature  thus  without  a  sign  of  mercy. 

She  rose  to  her  feet  as  the  two  came  at  last  to 
a  halt,  master  and  servant,  conquered  and  conqueror, 
man  and  quivering  beast. 

Then  Van  got  down,  and  her  heart,  that  had 
pitied  the  horse,  welled  with  deeper  feeling  for  the 
rider.  She  had  never  in  her  life  seen  a  face  so  drawn, 
so  utterly  haggard  beneath  a  mask  of  red  as  that 
presented  by  the  horseman. 

Van  nearly  fell,  but  would  not  fall,  and  instead 
stood  trembling,  his  arm  by  natural  inclination  now 
circling  the  neck  of  the  pony. 

"  Well,  Suvy,"  he  said  not  ungently,  "  we  gave 
each  other  hell.  Hereafter  we're  going  to  be  friends." 

Beth  heard  him.  She  also  saw  the  chestnut  turn 
and  regard  the  man  with  a  look  of  appeal  and  dumb 
questioning  in  his  eyes  that  choked  her — with  joy  and 
compassion  together.  She  someway  knew  that  this 
man  and  horse  would  be  comrades  while  they  lived. 

Half  an  hour  afterward  as  she,  Van,  and  Elsa  rode 
forward  as  before,  she  saw  the  man  in  affection  pat 
the  broncho  on  the  neck.  And  the  horse  pricked 
his  ears  in  a  newfound  gladness  in  service  and  friend 
ship  that  his  nature  could  not  yet  comprehend. 


CHAPTER  VII 

AN    EXCHANGE    OF    QUESTIONS 

YOUTH  is  elastic,  and  Van  was  young.  An  hour  of 
quiet  riding  restored  him  astoundingly.  He  bore 
no  signs  of  fatigue  that  Beth  could  detect  upon  his 
face.  Once  more,  as  he  had  in  the  morning,  he  was 
riding  ahead  in  the  trail,  apparently  all  but  oblivious 
of  the  two  anxious  women  in  his  charge. 

They  had  wound  far  downward  through  a  canyon, 
and  now  at  length  were  emerging  on  a  sagebrush 
slope  that  lowered  to  the  valley.  Van  halted  for 
Beth  to  ride  to  his  side,  and  onward  they  continued 
together. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  friends  to  whom  you  are 
going  in  Goldite,"  he  said,  " — or  at  least  there's  some 
one  you  know." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  my  brother." 

Van  looked  at  her  in  his  quizzical  way,  observing: 

"  I  don't  believe  I  know  him." 

Her  glance  was  almost  one  of  laughter. 

"  Why,  how  can  you  tell  ?  You  don't  even  know 
his  name."  She  paused,  then  added  quietly :  "  It's 
Glenmore  Kent."  She  felt  he  had  a  right  to  know 
not  only  her  brother's  name,  but  also  her  own,  if  only 
for  what  he  had  done.  "  You  might,  of  course, 

58 


An  Exchange  of  Questions 

know  him  after  all,"  she  concluded.  "  He  has  quite 
a  number  of  acquaintances." 

"Kent,"  said  Van.  To  himself  it  was  "Beth 
Kent "  he  was  saying.  "  No,  guess  not.  No  such 
luck,  but  I  hope  you'll  find  him  in  the  camp." 

"Do  you  think  I  may  not?"  She  was  just  a 
trifle  startled  by  the  possibility. 

He  was  grave  for  once. 

"  Men  come  and  go  in  a  mining  town,  where  every 
one's  unduly  excited.  If  he  isn't  on  deck,  then  have 
you  no  one  else?  Have  you  any  alternative  plan?  " 

"  Why,  no,"  she  confessed,  her  alarm  increasing, 
"  not  unless  Mr.  Bostwick  has  arrived  and  arranged 
our  accommodations." 

"  I  wouldn't  count  on  Searle,"  drawled  Van  sig 
nificantly.  "  He  may  have  to  walk." 

"Not  across  the  awful  desert?  " 

"  If  he  goes  around  he'll  be  longer." 

"  Why — but "  she  gasped,  "  there  is  nothing 

to  eat — no  water — there  isn't  anything  on  the  desert, 
is  there? — -anywhere?" 

He  was  looking  intently  into  the  deep  brown  depths 
of  her  eyes  as  he  answered : 

"  There's  so  little  to  eat  that  the  chipmunks  have 
to  fetch  in  their  lunches." 

Beth  continued  to  gaze  upon  him.  If  she  noted 
the  lights  of  laughter  lying  soberly  subdued  in  his 
eyes,  she  also  discerned  something  more,  that  affected 
her  oddly.  Despite  the  horseman's  treatment  of  her 
escort — a  treatment  she  confessed  he  had  partially 

59 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

deserved — and  despite  the  lightness  of  his  speeches, 
she  felt  certain  of  the  depth  of  his  nature,  convinced 
of  the  genuine  earnestness  of  his  purposes — the  hon 
esty  and  worth  of  his  friendship. 

She  knew  she  was  tremendously  indebted  for  all 
he  had  done  and  was  doing,  but  aside  from  all  that, 
in  her  heart  of  hearts  she  admired  bravery,  courage, 
and  a  dash  of  boldness  more  than  anything  else  in 
the  world.  She  was  not  yet  certain,  however,  whether 
the  man  at  her  side  was  brave  or  merely  reckless, 
courageous,  or  indifferent  to  danger,  bold  or  merely 
audacious.  She  knew  nothing  about  him  whatsoever, 
nothing  except  he  must  be  tired,  lame,  and  bruised 
from  exertions  undertaken  in  her  behalf.  It  had 
been  a  long,  long  day.  She  felt  as  if  they  had  known 
each  other  always — and  had  always  been  friends. 

Her  mind  went  back  to  the  morning  as  if  to  an 
era  of  the  past.  The  thought  of  the  convicts  who 
had  captured  Bostwick  aroused  new  apprehensions 
in  her  breast,  though  not  for  the  man  with  the  car. 
Someway  Searle  seemed  strangely  far  away  and 
dimmed  in  her  regard.  She  was  thinking  of  what 
she  had  overheard,  back  there  at  the  Monte  Cristo 
mine. 

"  This  has  been  a  trying  day,"  she  said,  apparently 
ignoring  Van's  last  observation.  "  You  have  taken 
a  great  deal  of  trouble  for — for  us — and  we  appre 
ciate  it  fully." 

Van  said  gravely :  "  Taking  trouble  is  the  only 
fun  I  have." 

60 


An  Exchange  of  Questions 

"  You  laugh  at  everything,"  she  answered,  "  but 
isn't  it  really  a  serious  thing — a  menace  to  everyone 
— having  those  convicts  out  of  prison?  " 

"  It  isn't  going  to  be  a  knitting-bee,  rounding  them 
up,"  Van  admitted.  "  And  meantime  they're  going 
to  be  exacting  of  everyone  they  meet." 

She  looked  at  him  half  seriously,  but  altogether 
brightly. 

"  And  what  if  they  chance  to  meet  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we'd  exchange  courtesies,  I  reckon." 

She  had  no  intention  of  confessing  how  much  she 
had  overheard,  but  she  was  tremendously  interested — 
almost  fearful  for  the  man's  safety,  she  hardly  dared 
ask  herself  why.  She  approached  her  subject  art- 
fully. 

"Do  you  know  them,  then?" 

"  Well,  yes,  the  leader — slightly,"  he  answered. 
"  I  sent  him  up  for  murder,  stealing  cattle,  and  rob 
bing  sluices.  He  was  too  annoying  to  have  around." 

"Oh!  Then  won't  he  feel  ugly,  resentful?"  she 
inquired  earnestly.  "  Won't  he  try  to  hunt  you  up 
— and  pay  you  back?  " 

Van  regarded  her  calmly. 

"  He  told  me  to  expect  my  pay — if  ever  he  escaped 
— and  he's  doubtless  got  his  check-book  along." 

"His  check-book?" 

"  Colt — forty-four,"  Van  drawled  by  way  of  ex 
planation. 

She  turned  a  trifle  pale. 

"  He'd  shoot  you  on  sight?  " 

61 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"  If  he  sighted  me  first." 

Her  breath  came  hard.  She  realized  that  the 
quiet-seeming  horseman  at  her  side  would  kill  a  fel 
low-being — this  convict,  at  least — as  readily  as  he 
might  destroy  a  snake. 

"How  long  ago  did  you  put  him  in  jail?"  she 
inquired. 

"  Four  years  ago  this  summer." 

"  Have  you  always  lived  here — out  West  ?  " 

"  I've  lived  every  day  I've  been  here,"  he  answered 
evasively.  "  Do  I  look  like  a  native?  " 

She  laughed.  "  Oh,  I  don't  know.  We  came  here 
straight  from  New  York,  a  week  ago,  Elsa  and  I. 
Mr.  Bostwick  joined  us  two  days  later.  I  really 
know  nothing  of  the  country  at  all." 

"  New  York,"  he  said,  and  relapsed  into  silent  medi 
tation.  How  far  away  seemed  old  New  Amsterdam ! 
How  long  seemed  the  brief  six  years  since  he  had 
started  forth  with  his  youthful  health,  his  strength, 
determination,  boyish  dreams,  and  small  inheritance 
to  build  up  a  fortune  in  the  West !  What  a  mixture 
of  sunshine  and  failure  it  had  been  !  What  glittering 
hopes  had  lured  him  hither  and  yon  in  the  mountains, 
where  each  great  gateway  of  adventure  had  charged 
its  heavy  toll! 

He  had  lost  practically  all  of  his  money;  he  had 
gained  his  all  of  manhood.  He  had  suffered  priva 
tion  and  hardship;  he  had  known  the  vast  comfort 
of  friends — true  friends,  as  certain  as  the  very  heart 
in  his  breast  to  serve  him  to  the  end. 

62 


An  Exchange  of  Questions 

Like  a  panoramic  dream  he  beheld  a  swift  pro 
cession  of  mine-and-cattle  scenes  troop  past  for  swift 
review.  He  lived  again  whole  months  of  nights  spent 
out  alone  beneath  the  sky,  with  the  snow  and  the 
wind  hurled  down  upon  him  from  a  merciless  firma 
ment  of  bleakness.  Once  more  he  stumbled  blindly 
forward  in  the  desert — he  and  Gettysburg — perish 
ing  for  water,  giving  up  their  liquid  souls  to  the 
horribly  naked  and  insatiate  sun.  Again  he  toiled 
in  the  shaft  of  a  mine  till  his  back  felt  like  a  crackly 
thing  of  glass  with  each  aching  fissure  going  deeper. 

Once  more  the  gold  goddess  beckoned  with  her 
smile,  and  fortune  was  there,  almost  in  reach — the 
fortune  that  he  and  his  partners  had  sought  so 
doggedly,  so  patiently — the  fortune  for  which  they 
had  starved  and  delved  and  suffered — only  to  see  it 
vanish  in  the  air  as  the  sunshine  will  vanish  from  a 
peak. 

Old  hopes,  like  ghosts,  went  skulking  by,  vain  char 
latans,  ashamed.  But  friendships  stood  about  in 
every  scene — bright  presences  that  cast  a  roseate 
glow  on  all  the  tribulations  of  his  life.  And  it 
seemed  as  if  a  failure  here  was  half  a  failure  only, 
after  all.  It  had  not  robbed  him  either  of  his  youth, 
his  strength,  or  a  certain  boyish  credulity  and  trust 
in  all  his  kind.  He  still  believed  he  should  win  his 
golden  goal,  and  he  loved  the  land  that  had  tried 
him. 

His  last,  his  biggest  venture,  the  Monte  Cristo 
mine  was,  however,  gone — everything  sold  to  meet 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

the  company  debts.  Nevertheless,  he  had  once  more 
purchased  a  claim,  with  all  but  his  very  last  dollar 
in  the  world,  and  he  and  his  partners  would  soon  be 
on  the  ground,  assaulting  the  stubborn  adamant  with 
powder,  pick,  and  drill,  in  the  fever  of  the  miner's 
ceaseless  dream. 

To-day,  as  he  rode  beside  the  girl,  he  wondered 
at  it  all — why  he  had  labored  so  persistently.  The 
faint,  far-off  shadow  of  a  sweetheart,  long  since  left 
behind,  failed  to  supply  him  a  motive.  She  had  grown 
impatient,  listened  to  a  suitor  more  tangible  than 
Van's  absent  self,  and  so,  blamelessly,  had  faded  from 
his  scheme  of  hopes,  leaving  no  more  than  a  fragrance 
in  his  thoughts,  with  certainly  no  bitterness  or  anger. 

"  Old  New  York,"  he  repeated,  at  the  end  of  his 
reverie,  and  meeting  once  more  the  steady  brown 
eyes  of  the  girl  with  whom  the  fates  had  thrown 
him,  he  fetched  up  promptly  with  the  present. 

"How  long  has  your  brother  been  out  here  in 
Goldite?" 

"  About  a  month,"  she  answered.  "  He's  been  in 
the  West  for  nearly  a  year,  and  wrote  Mr.  Bostwick 
to  come." 

"Mr.  Bostwick  is  doubtless  a  very  particular 
friend  of  your  family." 

"  Why,  yes,  he's  my That  is,  he  was — he  al 
ways  has  been  a  very  particular  friend — for  several 
years,"  she  faltered  suddenly  turning  red.  "  We 
haven't  any  family,  Glen  and  I — and  he's  my  half 
brother  only — but  we're  just  like  chums — and  that 

64. 


An  Exchange  of  Questions 

was  why  I  wanted  to  come.       I  expect  to  surprise 
him.      He  doesn't  know  I'm  here." 

Van  was  silent  and  she  presently  added: 
"  I  hope  you  and  Glen  will  be  friends.      I  know 
how  much  he'll  wish  to  thank  you." 
He  looked  at  her  gravely. 

"  I  hope  he  won't.  It's  up  to  me  to  thank  him." 
They  had  come  to  a  road  at  the  level  of  the  valley 
— a  desert  valley,  treeless,  grassless,  gray,  and  deso 
late.  The  sun  was  rapidly  nearing  the  rim  of  the 
mountains,  as  if  to  escape  pursuit  of  a  monstrous 
bank  of  clouds. 

Van  spurred  his  chestnut  to  a  gallop,  and  the 
horses  bearing  the  women  responded  with  no  further 
need  of  urging. 


65 


CHAPTER  VIII 


FROM  Karrish  to  Goldite  by  the  road  was  twenty- 
seven  miles.  There  were  fifteen  mile  of  bottles  by 
the  way — all  of  them  empty.  A  blind  man  with  a 
nose  for  glass  could  have  smelled  out  the  trail  un 
erringly  across  that  desert  stretch.  Karrish  was  the 
nearest  town  for  a  very  great  distance  around. 

Over  the  road  innumerable  caravans  were  passing. 
Everything  was  rushing  to  Goldite.  There  were 
horsemen,  hurried  persons  on  foot,  men  in  carriages 
and  autos,  twenty-horse  freight  teams,  and  men  on 
tiny  burros.  Nearly  all  were  shedding  bottles  as 
they  went.  A  waterless  land  is  not  necessarily  de 
void  of  all  manner  of  moisture. 

A  dozen  of  the  slowly  laboring  freight  outfits  were 
passed  by  Van  and  his  two  companions.  What  en 
gines  of  toil  they  represented!  The  ten  pairs  of 
sweating,  straining  animals  seemed  almost  like  some 
giant  caterpillar,  harnessed  to  a  burden  on  wheels. 
They  always  dragged  three  wagons,  two  of  which 
were  huge  gray  hulks,  incredibly  heavy  with  giant- 
powder,  canned  goods,  bottled  goods,  picks,  shovels, 
bedding,  hay,  great  mining  machinery,  and  house- 

66 


A  Night's  Expenses 

hold  articles.  These  wagons  were  hitched  entrain. 
The  third  wagon,  termed  a  "  trailer,"  was  small  and 
loaded  merely  with  provisions  for  the  teamster  and 
the  team.  The  whole  thing,  from  end  to  end,  beat 
up  a  stifling  cloud  of  dust. 

The  sun  went  down  while  Beth,  Van,  and  Elsa  were 
still  five  miles  from  their  goal.  They  rode  as  rapidly 
as  possible.  The  horses,  however,  were  jaded,  and 
the  way  was  slightly  up  grade.  The  twilight  was 
brief.  It  descended  abruptly  from  the  western  bank 
of  clouds,  by  now  as  thick  and  dark  as  mud.  Afar 
off  shone  the  first  faint  light  of  the  gold-camp  to 
which  the  three  were  riding.  This  glimmering  ray 
was  two  miles  out  from  the  center  of  town.  Goldite 
was  spread  in  a  circle  four  miles  wide,  and  the  most 
of  it  was  isolated  tents. 

The  darkness  shut  down  like  a  pall.  A  vivid, 
vicious  belt  of  lightning — a  fiery  serpent,  over 
charged  with  might — struck  down  upon  the  mountain 
tops,  pouring  liquid  flame  upon  the  rocks.  A  sweep 
ing  gust  of  wind  came  raging  down  upon  the  town, 
hurling  dust  and  gravel  on  the  travelers. 

Van  rode  ahead  like  a  spirit  of  the  storm.  He 
knew  the  need  for  haste.  Beth  simply  let  her  pony 
go.  She  was  cramped  and  far  too  wearied  for 
effort. 

They  were  galloping  now  past  the  outskirts  of  the 
camp,  the  many  scattered  tents  of  the  men  who  were 
living  on  their  claims.  All  the  world  was  a  land  of 
claims,  staked  off  with  tall  white  posts,  like  ghosts 

67 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

in  the  vanishing  light.  Ahead,  a  multitude  of  lights 
had  suddenly  broken  on  the  travelers'  vision,  like  a 
nearby  constellation  of  stars. 

They  rode  into  all  of  it,  blazing  lights,  eager 
crowds  upon  the  streets,  noise  of  atrocious  music 
from  the  brilliant  saloons,  and  rush  of  wind  and  dust, 
not  a  minute  too  soon.  They  had  barely  alighted 
and  surrendered  their  horses  to  a  friend  of  Van's 
when  the  rain  from  the  hilltops  swooped  upon  the 
camp  in  a  fury  that  seemed  like  an  elemental  threat 
to  sweep  all  the  place,  with  its  follies,  hopes,  and 
woes,  its  excitements,  lawlessness,  and  struggles,  from 
the  face  of  the  barren  desert  world. 

Beth  and  her  maid  were  lame  and  numb.  Van 
could  only  hustle  them  inside  a  grocery- and-hardware 
store  to  save  them  from  a  drenching.  The  store 
was  separated  from  a  gambling-hall  saloon  by  the 
flimsiest  board  partition.  Odors  of  alcohol,  con 
fusion  of  voices,  and  calls  of  a  gamester  came  un 
impeded  to  the  women's  senses,  together  with  some 
mighty  bad  singing,  accompanied  lustily  by  strains 
and  groans  pounded  from  a  ghastly  piano. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Van,  inverting  a  tub  at  the  feet 
of  the  wondering  women.  "  I'll  see  if  I  can  rustle 
up  your  brother." 

He  went  out  in  the  rain,  dived  impartially  into 
the  first  of  the  crowded  saloons,  was  somewhat  hi 
lariously  greeted  by  a  score  of  convivial  fellows,  found 
no  one  who  knew  of  young  Glen  Kent,  and  proceeded 
on  to  the  next. 

68 


A  Night's  Expenses 

The  horseman  was  well  and  favorably  known  in 
all  directions.  He  was  eagerly  cornered  wheresoever 
he  appeared  by  a  lot  of  fellows  who  were  friends 
to  little  purpose,  in  an  actual  test.  However,  he 
clung  to  his  mission  with  commendable  tenacity  of 
purpose,  and  kept  upon  his  way.  Thus  he  discovered 
at  length,  when  he  visited  the  bank — an  institution 
that  rarely  closed  before  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening — 
that  Kent  had  been  gone  for  the  past  two  weeks,  no 
one  knew  where,  but  somewhere  out  south,  with  a 
party. 

There  was  nothing  to  do  after  that  but  to  look 
for  fit  apartments  for  the  gently  reared  girl  and 
her  maid.  Hunting  a  needle  in  the  ocean  would 
have  been  a  somewhat  similar  task.  Van  went  at 
once  at  the  business,  with  his  customary  spirit.  He 
was  presently  informed  there  was  nothing  resembling 
a  room  or  a  bed  to  be  had  in  all  the  place.  A  hun 
dred  men  would  walk  the  streets  or  sleep  in  chairs 
that  night.  The  one  apartment  suitable  for  two 
lone  women  to  occupy  had  been  secured  the  previous 
day  by  "  Plunger  "  Trask,  an  Eastern  young  man 
who  would  bet  that  grass  was  not  green. 

Van  searched  for  Trask  and  found  him  "  cashing 
in  "  a  lot  of  assorted  chips,  representing  his  winnings 
at  a  faro  game  at  which  he  had  been  "  bucking." 

"  Hello,  there,  Van,"  he  said  familiarly  as  the 
horseman  touched  him  on  the  shoulder.  "  Come  and 
have  a  drink." 

"  My   teeth  are  floating  now   from  drink,"   said 

69 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

Van,  "  but  I'll  take  something  else  if  you  say  so.  I 
want  your  apartments  for  the  night." 

"  Say,  wire  me !  "  answered  the  plunger.  "  That's 
the  cutest  little  bunch  of  nerve  I  ever  saw  off  the 
Bowery!  How  much  money  have  you  got  in  your 
clothes?" 

"About  forty-five  dollars,"  said  Van.  "Is  it 
good?" 

"  Not  as  a  price,  but  O.K.  in  a  flip,"  said  Trask, 
with  an  itch  for  schemes  of  chance.  "  I'll  throw  you 
the  dice,  my  room  against  your  forty-five — and  the 
devil  take  your  luck  if  you  win !  " 

Van  agreed.  They  borrowed  a  box  of  dice,  threw 
three  times  apiece — and  the  horseman  paid  over  his 
money. 

"  There  you  are,  old  man,"  said  the  plunger  cheer 
fully.  "  Satisfied,  I  hope." 

"  Not  quite,"  said  Van.  "  I'll  owe  you  forty-five 
more  and  throw  you  again." 

"  Right  ho !  "  responded  Trask.  "  Go  as  far  as 
you  like." 

They  shook  again.  Van  lost  as  before.  He  bor 
rowed  again,  undiscouraged.  For  the  third  time  they 
cast  the  little  cubes  of  uncertainty  and  this  time  Van 
actually  won.  The  room  was  his  to  dispose  of  as 
he  pleased.  It  had  cost  him  ninety  dollars  for  the 
night. 

In  his  pocket  he  had  cautiously  retained  a  little 
money — seven  and  one-half  dollars,  to  be  accurate. 
He  returned  to  Beth,  informed  her  of  all  he  had  dis- 

70 


A  Night's  Expenses 

covered  concerning  her  brother,  took  herself  and  Elsa 
to  dine  in  the  camp's  one  presentable  restaurant,  paid 
nearly  seven  dollars  for  the  meal,  and  gave  what  re 
mained  to  the  waiter. 

Then  Beth,  who  had  never  in  her  life  been  so  utterly 
exhausted,  resigned  herself  to  Elsa's  care,  bade  Van 
good-night,  and  left  him  standing  in  the  rain  before 
the  door,  gallant,  and  smiling  to  the  end. 


71 


CHAPTER  IX 

PROGRESS   AND   SALT 

GOLDITE,  by  the  light  of  day,  presented  a  wonder 
ful  spectacle.  It  was  a  mining  camp  positively  crys 
tallizing  into  being  before  the  very  eyes  of  all  be 
holders.  It  was  nearly  all  tents  and  canvas  struc 
tures — a  heterogeneous  mixture  of  incompleteness 
and  modernity  to  which  the  telegraph  wires  had  al 
ready  been  strung  from  the  outside  world.  It  had  no 
fair  supply  of  water,  but  it  did  have  a  newspaper,  is 
sued  once  a  week. 

A  dozen  new  buildings,  flimsy,  cheap  affairs,  were 
growing  like  toadstools,  day  and  night.  Several 
brick  buildings,  and  shacks  of  mud,  were  rising  side 
by  side.  Everywhere  the  scene  was  one  of  crowds, 
activity,  and  hurry.  Thousands  of  men  were  in  the 
one  straight  street,  a  roughly  dressed,  excited  throng, 
gold-bitten,  eager,  and  open-handed.  Hundreds  of 
mules  and  horses,  a  few  bewildered  cows,  herds  of 
great  wagons,  buggies,  heaps  of  household  goods,  and 
trunks,  with  fortifications  of  baled  hay  and  grain, 
were  crowded  into  two  great  corrals,  where  dusty 
teamsters  hastened  hotly  about,  amidst  heaps  of  dusty 
harness,  sacks  of  precious  ore  and  the  feed  troughs 
for  the  beasts. 

72 


Progress  and  Salt 

Beth  had  slept  profoundly,  despite  the  all-night 
plague  of  noises,  penetrating  vividly  through  the 
shell-like  walls  of  the  house.  She  was  out  with  Elsa 
at  an  early  hour,  amazingly  refreshed  and  absorb 
ingly  interested  in  all  she  heard  and  saw.  The  sky 
was  clear,  but  a  chill  wind  blew  down  from  the  moun 
tains,  flapping  canvas  walls  in  all  directions. 

The  building  wherein  the  women  had  rested  was  a 
wooden  lodging  house,  set  barely  back  from  the  one 
business  street  of  the  camp.  Next  door  was  a  small, 
squat  domicile  constructed  of  bottles  and  mud.  The 
bottles  were  laid  in  the  "  mortar "  with  their  ends 
protruding.  Near  by,  at  the  rear  of  a  prosperous 
saloon,  was  a  pyramid  of  empty  bottles,  fully  ten 
feet  high — enough  to  build  a  little  church. 

Drawn  onward  by  the  novelty  of  all  the  scene, 
Beth  crossed  the  main  street — already  teeming  with 
horses,  wagons,  and  men — and  proceeded  over  towards 
a  barren  hill,  followed  demurely  by  her  maid.  The 
hill  was  like  a  torn-up  battlefield,  trenched,  and  piled 
with  earthworks  of  defense,  for  man  the  impetuous 
had  already  flung  up  great  gray  dumps  of  rock, 
broken  and  wrenched  from  the  bulk  of  the  slope, 
where  he  quested  for  gleaming  yellow  metal.  He  had 
ripped  out  the  adamant — the  matrix  of  the  gold — 
for  as  far  as  Beth  could  see.  Like  ant-heaps  of  tre 
mendous  dimensions  stood  these  monuments  of  toil — 
rock-writings,  telling  of  the  heat  and  desire,  the  mad 
ness  of  man  to  be  rich. 

The  world  about  was  one  of  rocks  and  treeless 

73 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

ridges,  spewed  from  some  vast  volcanic  forge  of  ages 
past.  It  was  all  a  hard,  gray,  adamantine  world, 
unlovely  and  severe — a  huge  old  gold  furnace,  minus 
heat  or  fire,  lying  neglected  in  a  universe  of  moun 
tains  that  might  have  been  a  workshop  in  the  an 
cient  days  when  Titans  wrought  their  arts  upon  the 
earth. 

Beth  gazed  upon  it  all  in  wonder  not  unmingled 
with  awe.  What  a  place  it  was  for  man  to  live  and 
wage  his  puny  battles!  Yet  the  fever  of  all  of  it, 
rising  in  her  veins,  made  her  eager  already  to  partake 
of  the  dream,  the  excitement  that  made  mere  gold- 
slaves  of  the  men  who  had  come  here  compelling  this 
forbidding  place  to  yield  up  some  measure  of  comfort 
and  become  in  a  manner  their  home. 

Van,  in  the  meanwhile,  having  spent  the  time  till 
midnight  on  his  feet,  and  the  small  hours  asleep  on 
a  bale  of  hay,  was  early  abroad,  engaged  in  various 
directions.  He  first  proceeded  to  the  largest  general 
store  in  the  camp  and  ordered  a  generous  bill  of 
supplies  to  be  sent  to  his  newest  claim.  Next  he 
arranged  with  a  friendly  teamster  for  the  prompt 
return  of  the  two  borrowed  horses  on  which  Beth 
and  her  maid  had  come  to  camp.  Then,  on  his  way 
to  an  assayer's  office,  where  samples  of  rock  from 
the  claim  in  question  had  been  left  for  the  test  of 
fire,  he  encountered  a  homely,  little,  dried-up  woman 
who  was  scooting  about  from  store  to  store  with 
astonishing  celerity  of  motion. 

"  Tottering  angels  !  "  said  he.     "  Mrs.  Dick ! " 

74 


Progress  and  Salt 

"Hello — just  a  minute,"  said  the  lively  little 
woman,  and  she  dived  inside  the  newest  building  and 
was  out  almost  immediately  with  a  great  sack  of 
plunder  that  she  jerked  about  with  most  diverting 
energy. 

"  Here,  fetch  this  down  to  the  house,"  she  de 
manded  imperiously.  "  What's  the  good  of  my  find 
ing  you  here  in  Goldite  if  you  don't  do  nothing  for 
your  country?  " 

Van  shouldered  the  sack. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  anyhow  ? "  said  he, 
" — up  before  breakfast  and  busy  as  a  hen  scratching 
for  one  chicken." 

"  Come  on,"  she  answered,  starting  briskly  towards 
a  new  white  building,  off  the  main  thoroughfare,  east 
ward.  "  I  live  here — start  my  boarding-house  to 
day.  I'm  going  to  get  rich.  Every  room's  fur 
nished  and  every  bed  wanted  as  fast  as  I  can  make 
'em  up.  Have  you  had  your  breakfast?  " 

"  Say,  you're  my  Indian,"  answered  Van.  "  I've 
got  you  two  customers  already.  You've  got  to  take 
them  in  and  give  them  your  best  if  you  turn  someone 
else  inside  out  to  do  it." 

Mrs.  Dick  paused  suddenly. 

"  Bronson  Van  Buren !  You're  stuck  on  some 
woman  at  last ! " 

"At  last?"  said  Van.  "Haven't  I  always  been 
stuck  after  you  ?  " 

Mrs.  Dick  resumed  her  brisk  locomotion. 

"  Snakes  alive !  "  she  concluded  explosively.  "  She's 

75 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

respectable,  of  course?  But  you  said  two.  Now  see 
here,  Van,  no  Mormon  games  with  me ! " 

"  Her  maid — it's  her  maid  that's  with  her,"  Van 
explained.  "  Don't  jump  down  my  throat  till  I 
grease  it." 

"  Her  maid!  "  Mrs.  Dick  said  no  more  as  to  that. 
The  way  she  said  it  was  enough.  They  had  come 
to  the  door  of  her  newly  finished  house,  a  clean,  home 
like  place  from  which  a  fragrance  of  preparing 
breakfast  flowed  like  a  ravishing  nectar.  "  Where 
are  they  now?  "  she  demanded  impatiently.  "  Wher 
ever  they  are  it  ain't  fit  for  a  horse!  Why  don't 
you  go  and  fetch  'em  ?  " 

Van  put  the  bag  inside  the  door,  then  his  hands 
on  Mrs.  Dick's  shoulders. 

"  I'll  bet  your  mother  was  a  little  red  firecracker 
and  your  father  a  bottle  of  seltzer,"  he  said.  Then 
off  he  went  for  Beth. 

She  was  not,  of  course,  at  u  home  "  when  he  ar 
rived  at  the  place  he  had  found  the  previous  evening. 
Disturbed  for  a  moment  by  her  absence,  he  presently 
discerned  her,  off  there  westward  on  the  hill  from 
which  she  was  making  a  survey  of  the  camp. 

Three  minutes  after  he  was  climbing  up  the  slope 
and  she  turned  and  looked  downward  upon  him. 

"By  heavens !  "  he  said  beneath  his  breath, " — what 
beauty ! " 

The  breeze  was  molding  her  dress  upon  her 
rounded  form  till  she  seemed  like  the  statue  of  a 
goddess — a  goddess  of  freedom,  loveliness,  and  joy, 

76 


Progress  and  Salt 

sculptured  in  the  living  flesh — a  figure  vibrant  with 
glowing  health  and  youth,  startlingly  set  in  the  des 
ert's  gray  austerity.  With  the  sunlight  flinging  its 
gold  and  riches  upon  her,  what  a  marvel  of  color  she 
presented! — such  creamy  white  and  changing  rose- 
tints  in  her  cheeks — such  a  wonderful  brown  in  her 
hair  and  eyes — such  crimson  of  lips  that  parted  in 
a  smile  over  even  little  jewels  of  teeth!  And  she 
smiled  on  the  horseman,  tall,  and  active,  coming  to 
find  her  on  the  hill. 

"  Good  morning !  "  she  cried.  "  Oh,  isn't  it  won 
derful — so  big,  and  bare,  and  clean!  " 

Van  smiled. 

"  It's  a  hungry-looking  country  to  me — looks  as 
if  it  has  eaten  all  the  trees.  If  it  makes  you  think 
of  breakfast,  or  just  plain  coffee  and  rolls,  I've  found 
a  place  I  hope  you'll  like,  with  a  friend  I  didn't  know 
was  here." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  I'm  sure,"  she  said.  "  I'm 
afraid  we're  a  great  deal  of  trouble." 

"  That's  what  women  were  made  for,"  he  answered 
her  frankly,  a  bright,  dancing  light  in  his  eyes. 
"  They  couldn't  help  it  if  they  would,  and  I  guess 
they  wouldn't  if  they  could." 

"  Oh,  indeed  ?  "  She  shot  him  a  quick  glance,  half 
a  challenge.  "I  guess  if  you  don't  mind  we  won't 
go  to  the  place  you've  found,  for  breakfast,  this 
morning." 

"  You'd  better  guess  again,"  he  answered,  and  tak 
ing  her  arm,  in  a  masterful  way  that  bereft  her  of 

77 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

the  power  of  speech  or  resistance,  he  marched  her 
briskly  down  the  slope  and  straight  towards  Mrs. 
Dick's. 

"  Thank  your  stars  you've  struck  a  place  like  this," 
he  said.  "  If  you  don't  I'll  have  to  thank  them  for 

you." 

"  Perhaps  I  ought  to  thank  you  first,"  she  ven 
tured  smilingly.  It  would  have  seemed  absurd  to 
resent  his  boyish  ways. 

"  You  may,"  he  said,  "  when  I  get  to  be  one  of 
your  stars." 

"  Oh,  really?  Why  defer  mere  thanks  indefi 
nitely  ?  " 

"  It  won't  be  indefinitely,  and  besides,  thanks  will 
keep — and  breakfast  won't." 

He  entered  the  house,  with  Beth  and  her  maid 
humbly  trailing  at  his  heels.  Mrs.  Dick  came  bus 
tling  from  the  kitchen  like  a  busy  little  ant.  Van 
introduced  his  charges  briefly.  Mrs.  Dick  shook 
hands  with  them  both. 

"  Well !  "  she  said,  "  I  like  you  after  all !  And  it's 
lucky  I  do,  for  if  I  didn't  I  don't  know's  I  should 
take  you  or  not,  even  if  Van  did  say  I  had  to." 

Van  took  her  by  the  shoulders  and  shook  her  boy 
ishly. 

"  You'd  take  a  stick  of  dynamite  and  a  house  afire, 
both  in  one  hand,  if  I  said  so,"  he  announced.  "  Now 
don't  get  hostile." 

"  Well— I  s'pose  I  would,"  agreed  Mrs.  Dick.  She 
added  to  Beth:  "  Ain't  he  the  dickens  and  all?  Just 

78 


Progress  and  Salt 

regular  brute  strength.  Come  right  upstairs  till 
I  show  you  where  you're  put.  I've  turned  off 
two  men  to  let  you  have  the  best  room  in  the 
house." 

Beth  had  to  smile.  She  had  never  felt  so  helpless 
in  her  life — or  so  amused.  She  followed  Mrs.  Dick 
obediently,  finding  the  two-bed  room  above  to  be  a 
bright,  new-smelling  apartment  of  acceptable  size 
and  situation.  In  answer  to  a  score  of  rapid-fire 
questions  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Dick,  she  imparted 
as  much  as  Van  already  knew  concerning  herself 
and  her  quest. 

Mrs.  Dick  became  her  friend  forthwith,  then  has 
tened  downstairs  to  the  kitchen.  Van  and  Beth 
presently  took  breakfast  together,  while  Elsa,  with* 
a  borrowed  needle  and  thread,  was  busied  with  some 
minor  repairing  of  garments  roughly  used  the  day 
before.  Other  boarders  and  lodgers  of  the  house 
had  already  eaten  and  gone,  to  resume  their  swirl 
in  the  maelstrom  of  the  camp. 

For  a  time  the  two  thus  left  alone  in  the  dining- 
room  appeased  their  appetites  in  silence.  Van 
watched  the  face  of  the  girl  for  a  time  and  finally 
spoke. 

"  I'll  let  you  know  whatever  I  hear  about  your 
brother,  if  there  is  any  more  to  hear.  Meantime 
you'll  have  to  remain  here  and  wait." 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment,  reflecting  on  the 
situation. 

"  You  took  my  suitcase  away  from  Mr.  Bostwick, 

79 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

you'll  remember,"  she  said,  "  and  left  it  where  we 
got  the  horses." 

"  It  will  be  here  to-day,"  he  answered.  "  I  ar 
ranged  for  that  with  Dave." 

"  Oh.  But  of  course  you  cannot  tell  when  Mr. 
Bostwick  may  appear." 

"  His  movements  couldn't  be  arranged  so  con 
veniently,  otherwise  he  wouldn't  appear  at  all." 

She  glanced  at  him,  startled. 

"Not  come  at  all?  But  I  need  him!  Besides, 

he's  my I  expect  him  to  go  and  find  my  brother. 

And  the  trunk  checks  are  all  in  his  pocket — wait ! 
— no  they're  not,  they're  in  my  suitcase  after  all." 

"  You're  in  luck,"  he  assured  her  blandly,  "  for 
Searle  has  doubtless  lost  all  his  pockets." 

"  Lost  his  pockets  ?  "  she  echoed.  "  Perhaps  you 
mean  the  convicts  took  them — took  his  clothing — 
everything  he  had." 

"Everything  except  his  pleasant  manner,"  Van 
agreed.  "  They  have  plenty  of  that  of  their  own." 

She  was  lost  for  a  moment  in  reflection. 

"  Poor  Searle !     Poor  Mr.  Bostwick !  " 

Van  drank  the  last  of  his  coffee. 

"  Was  Searle  the  only  man  you  knew  in  all  New 
York?" 

She  colored.  "  Certainly  not.  Of  course  not. 
Why  do  you  ask  such  a  question  ?  " 

"  I  was  trying  to  understand  the  situation,  but 
I  give  it  up."  He  looked  in  her  eyes  with  mock 
gravity,  and  she  colored. 

80 


Progress  and  Salt 

She  understood  precisely  what  he  meant — the  situ 
ation  between  herself  and  Bostwick,  to  whom,  she 
feared,  she  had  half  confessed  herself  engaged.  She 
started  three  times  to  make  a  reply,  but  halted  each 
answer  for  a  better. 

"You  don't  like  Mr.  Bostwick,"  she  finally  ob 
served. 

Van  told  her  gravely :  "  I  like  him  like  the  old 
woman  kept  tavern." 

She  could  not  entirely  repress  a  smile. 

"  And  how  did  she  keep  it — the  tavern  ?  '* 

"  Like  hell,"  said  Van.  He  rose  to  go,  adding : 
"You  like  him  about  that  way  yourself — since  yes 
terday." 

Her  eyes  had  been  sparkling,  but  now  they 
snapped. 

"Why — how  can  you  speak  so  rudely?  You 
know  that  isn't  true!  You  know  I  like — admire 

Mr.  Bost You  haven't  any  right  to  say  a 

thing  like  that — no  matter  what  you  may  have  done 
for  me ! " 

She  too  had  risen.      She  faced  him  glowingly. 

He  suddenly  took  both  her  hands  and  held  them 
in  a  firm,  warm  clasp  from  which  there  could  be  no 
escape. 

"  Beth,"  he  said  audaciously,  "  you  are  never  going 
to  marry  that  man." 

She  was  struggling  vainly  to  be  free.  Her  face 
was  crimson. 

"  Let  me  go  !  "  she  demanded.      "  Mr.  Van — you 

81 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

let  me  go !  I  don't  see  how  you  dare  to  say  a  thing 
like  that.  I  don't  know  why " 

"You  can't  marry  Searle,"  he  interrupted,  "be 
cause  you  are  going  to  marry  me." 

He  raised  her  hands  to  his  lips  and  kissed  them 
both. 

"  Be  back  by  and  by,"  he  added,  and  off  he  went, 
through  the  kitchen,  leaving  Beth  by  the  table 
speechless,  burning  and  confused,  with  a  hundred 
wild  emotions  in  her  heart. 

He  continued  out  at  the  rear  of  the  place,  where 
little  Mrs.  Dick  was  valiantly  tugging  at  two  large 
buckets  of  water.  He  relieved  her  of  the  burden. 

"  Say,  Priscilla,"  he  drawled,  "  if  a  smoke-faced 
Easterner  comes  around  here  while  I'm  gone,  looking 
for — you  know — Miss  Kent,  remember  he  can't  have 
a  room  in  your  house  if  he  offers  a  million  and  walks 
on  his  hands  and  prays  in  thirteen  languages." 

Little  Mrs.  Dick  glanced  up  at  him  shrewdly. 

"  Have  you  got  it  as  bad  as  that?  Snakes  alive! 
All  right,  I  guess  I'll  remember." 

66  Be  good,"  said  Van,  and  off  he  went  to  the 
assayer's  shop  for  which  he  had  started  before. 

The  assayer  glanced  up  briefly.  He  was  busy 
at  a  bucking-board,  where,  with  energetic  applica 
tion  of  a  very  heavy  weight,  on  the  end  of  a  handle, 
he  was  grinding  up  a  lot  of  dusty  ore. 

"  Greeting,  Van,"  said  he.      "  Come  in." 

Van  shook  his  outstretched  hand. 

"  I  thought  I'd  like  to  see  those  results,"  he  said, 


Progress  and  Salt 

" — that  rock  I  fetched  you  last,  remember?  You 
thought  you  could  finish  the  batch  last  week.  Gold 
rock  from  the  '  See  Saw '  claim  that  I  bought  three 
weeks  ago." 

"  Yes,  oh  yes.  Now  what  did  I  do  with 

Finished  'em  up  and  put  'em  away  somewhere,"  said 
the  assayer,  dusting  his  hands  and  moving  towards 
his  desk.  "  Such  a  lot  of  stuff 's  been  coming  in — 
here  they  are,  I  reckon."  He  drew  a  half  dozen 
small  printed  forms  from  a  cavity  in  the  desk, 
glanced  them  over  briefly  and  handed  the  lot  to  Van. 
"  Nothing  doing.  Pretty  good  rock  for  building 
purposes." 

"Nothing  doing?"  echoed  Van  incredulously, 
staring  at  the  assay  records  which  showed  in  merci 
less  bluntness  that  six  different  samples  of  reputed 
ore  had  proved  to  be  absolutely  worthless.  "  The 
samples  you  assayed  first  showed  from  ten  to  one 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars  to  the  ton,  in  gold." 

"  What's  that  got  to  do  with  this?  "  inquired  the 
master  of  acids  and  fire.  "  You  don't  mean  to 
say " 

"Do  with  it,  man?  It  all  came  out  of  the  same 
identical  prospect,"  Van  interrupted.  "  These  were 
later  samples  than  the  others,  that's  all." 

The  assayer  glanced  over  his  shoulder  at  the  hope- 
destroying  slips. 

"  The  '  See  Saw '  claim,"  he  said  perfunctorily. 
"  You  bought  it,  Van,  who  from?  " 

"  From  Selwyn  Briggs." 

83 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"  Sorry,"  said  the  assayer  briefly.  "  H'm !  That 
Briggs!" 

"  You  don't  mean It  couldn't  have  been 

salted  on  me ! "  Van  declared.  "  I  took  my  own 
samples,  broke  down  a  new  face  purposely,  sacked 
it  all  myself — and  sealed  the  sacks.  No  one  touched 
those  sacks  till  you  broke  the  seals  in  this  office. 
He  couldn't  have  salted  me,  Frank.  What  possible 
chance " 

The  assayer  went  to  a  shelf,  took  down  a  small 
canvas  bag,  glanced  at  a  mark  that  identified  it  as 
one  in  which  samples  of  "  See  Saw  "  rock  had  ar 
rived  for  the  former  assay,  and  turned  it  inside  out. 

"  Once  in  a  while  I've  heard  of  a  cute  one  squirt 
ing  a  sharp  syringe  full  of  chloride  of  gold  on  worth 
less  rock,  through  the  meshes  of  the  canvas,  even 
after  the  samples  were  sealed,"  he  imparted  quietly. 
u  This  sack  looks  to  me  like  some  I've  encountered 
before  that  were  pretty  rich  in  gold.  I'll  assay  the 
cloth  if  you  like." 

Van  took  the  sack  in  his  hand,  examined  it  silently, 
then  glanced  as  before  at  his  papers. 

"  Salted — by  that  lump  of  a  Briggs !  "  His  lip 
was  curved  in  a  mirthless  smile.  "  I  guess  I've  got 
it  in  the  neck  all  right.  These  last  samples  tell 
the  real  story."  He  slapped  the  papers  across  his 
hand,  then  tore  them  up  in  tiny  bits  and  threw  them 
on  the  floor. 

"  Sorry,  old  man,"  said  the  assayer,  as  before. 
"  Hope  you  didn't  pay  him  much  for  the  claim." 

84 


Progress  and  Salt 

"  Not  much,"  said  Van.  "  All  I  had — and  some 
of  it  borrowed  money." 

The  assayer  puckered  up  his  mouth. 

"  Briggs  has  skipped — gone  East." 

"  I  know.  Well — all  in  a  lifetime,  I  suppose. 
Pay  you,  Frank,  when  I  can." 

"  That's  all  right,"  his  friend  assured  him.  "  For 
get  it  if  you  like." 

Van  started  off,  but  returned. 

"  Say,  Frank,"  he  said,  "  don't  hawk  this  around. 
It's  bad  enough  for  me  to  laugh  at  myself.  I  don't 
want  the  chorus  joining  in." 

"  I'm  your  clam,"  said  Frank.  "  So  long,  and 
better  luck!" 


85 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   LAUGHING  WATER   CLAIM 

A  MAN  who  lives  by  uncertainties  has  a  singular 
habit  of  mind.  He  is  ever  lured  forward  by  hopes 
and  dreams  that  overlap  each  other  as  he  goes. 
While  the  scheme  in  hand  is  proving  hopeless,  day 
by  day,  he  grasps  at  another,  just  ahead,  and  draws 
himself  onward  towards  the  gilded  goal,  forgetful 
of  the  trickery  of  all  those  other  schemes  behind, 
that  were  equally  bright  in  their  day. 

Van  had  relinquished  all  hold  on  the  golden  dream 
once  dangled  before  him  by  the  Monte  Cristo  mine, 
to  lay  strong  hands  on  the  promise  vouchsafed  by 
the  "  See  Saw  "  claim  which  he  had  purchased.  As 
he  walked  away  from  the  assayer's  shop  he  felt 
his  hands  absolutely  empty.  For  the  very  first  time 
in  at  least  four  years  he  had  no  blinding  glitter 
before  his  vision  to  entice  him  to  feverish  endeavor. 
He  was  a  dreamer  with  no  dreams,  a  miner  without 
a  mine. 

He  felt  chagrined,  humiliated.  After  all  his  time 
spent  here  in  the  world's  most  prodigious  laboratory 
of  minerals,  he  had  purchased  a  salted  mine!  A 
sharper  man,  that  sad-faced,  half-sick  Selwyn 
Briggs,  had  actually  trimmed  him  like  this! 

86 


The  Laughing  Water  Claim 

Salted!  And  he  was  broke.  Well,  what  was 
the  next  thing  to  do?  He  thought  of  the  fine  large 
bill  of  goods,  engaged  for  himself  and  partners  to 
take  to  the  "  See  Saw  "  claim.  It  made  him  smile. 
But  he  would  not  rescind  the  order — for  a  while. 
His  partners,  with  his  worldly  goods,  the  Chinese 
cook  and  all  the  household,  save  Cayuse,  would  doubt 
less  arrive  by  noon.  He  and  they  had  to  eat;  they 
had  to  live.  Also  they  had  to  mine,  for  they  knew 
nothing  else  by  way  of  occupation.  They  must 
somehow  get  hold  of  some  sort  of  claim,  and  go  on 
with  their  round  of  hopes  and  toil.  They  had  never 
been  so  utterly  bereft — so  outcast  by  the  goddess 
of  fortune — since  they  had  thrown  their  lots  to 
gether. 

He  dreaded  the  thought  of  meeting  various  ac 
quaintances  here  in  camp — the  friends  to  whom  he 
had  said  he  was  going  that  day  to  the  "  See  Saw  " 
property,  far  over  the  Mahogany  range,  near  the 
Indian  reservation.  He  determined  to  go.  Perhaps 
the  shack  and  the  shaft-house  on  the  claim,  with 
the  windlass  and  tools  included  by  Briggs  in  the  bill 
of  sale,  might  fetch  a  few  odd  dollars. 

Slowly  down  the  street  he  went  to  the  hay-yard 
where  his  pony  was  stabled.  He  met  a  water  man, 
halting  on  his  rounds  at  the  front  of  a  neat  canvas 
dwelling.  The  man  had  three  large  barrels  on  a 
wagon,  each  full  of  muddy,  brackish  water.  A  long 
piece  of  hose  was  thrust  into  one,  its  other  end 
dangled  out  behind. 

87 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

From  the  tent  emerged  a  woman  with  her  buckets. 
The  water  man  placed  the  hose-end  to  his  mouth, 
applied  a  lusty  suction,  and  the  water  came  gushing 
forth.  He  filled  both  receptacles,  collected  the  price, 
and  then  drove  on  to  the  next. 

Sardonically  Van  reflected  that  even  the  fine  little 
stream  of  water  on  his  claim,  in  a  land  where  water 
was  so  terribly  scarce,  was  absolutely  worthless  as 
an  asset.  It  was  over  a  mountain  ridge  of  such 
tremendous  height  that  it  might  as  well  have  been 
in  the  forests  of  Maine. 

Despite  the  utter  hopelessness  of  his  present  situa 
tion,  his  spirits  were  not  depressed.  Gettysburg, 
he  reflected,  was  a  genius  for  bumping  into  queer 
old  prospectors — relics  of  the  days  of  forty-nine, 
still  eagerly  pursuing  their  ignis  fatuous  of  gold — 
and  from  some  such  desert  wanderer  he  would  doubt 
less  soon  pick  up  a  claim.  There  was  nothing  like 
putting  Gettysburg  upon  the  scent. 

Van  wrote  a  note  to  his  partners. 

"  Dear  Fellow  Mourners : 

"Have  just  discovered  a  joke.  I  was  salted  on 
the  '  See  Saw '  property.  Our  pipe  dream  is  de 
funct.  Have  gone  over  to  lay  out  remains.  If 
you  find  any  oldtimers  who  have  just  discovered 
some  lost  bonanza,  take  them  into  camp.  Don't  get 
drunk,  get  busy.  Be  back  a  little  after  noon." 

This  he  left  with  the  hay-yard  man  where  his  part- 
88 


The  Laughing  Water  Claim 

ners  would  stop  when  they  arrived.  (  Mounted  on 
Suvy,  his  outlaw  of  the  day  before,  he  rode  from 
Goldite  joyously.  After  all,  what  was  the  odds? 
He  had  been  no  better  off  than  now  at  least  a  hun 
dred  times.  At  the  worst  he  still  had  his  partners 
and  his  horse,  a  breakfast  aboard,  and  a  mountain 
ahead  to  climb. 

Indeed,  at  the  light  of  friendship  in  his  broncho's 
eyes,  as  well  as  at  the  pony's  neigh  of  welcome,  back 
there  at  the  yard,  he  had  felt  a  boundless  pleasure 
in  his  veins.  He  patted  the  chestnut's  neck,  in  his 
rough,  brusque  way  of  companionship,  and  the  horse 
fairly  quivered  with  pleasure. 

For  nearly  two  hours  the  willing  animal  went  zig 
zagging  up  the  rocky  slopes.  The  day  was  warm 
ing;  the  sun  was  a  naked  disk  of  fire.  It  was  hard 
climbing.  Van  had  chosen  the  shorter,  steeper  way 
across  the  range.  From  time  to  time,  where  the 
barren  ascent  was  exceptionally  severe,  he  swung 
from  the  saddle  and  led  the  broncho  on,  to  mount 
further  up  as  before. 

Thus  they  came  in  time  to  a  zone  of  change,  over 
one  of  the  ridges,  a  region  where  rocks  and  ugliness 
gave  way  to  a  growth  of  brush  and  stunted  trees. 
These  were  the  outposts,  ragged,  dwarfed,  and 
warped,  of  a  finer  growth  beyond. 

Fifteen  miles  away,  down  between  the  hills,  flowed 
a  tortuous  stream,  by  courtesy  called  a  river.  It 
sometimes  rose  in  a  turgid  flood,  but  more  often  it 
sank  and  delivered  up  its  ghost  to  such  an  extent 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

that  a  man  could  have  held  it  in  his  hat.  Never 
theless  some  greenery  flourished  on  its  banks. 

When  Van  at  last  could  oversee  the  vast,  un 
peopled  lands  of  the  Piute  Indian  reservation,  near 
the  boundary  of  which  his  salted  claim  had  been 
staked,  he  had  only  a  mile  or  so  to  ride,  and  all 
the  way  down  hill. 

He  came  to  the  property  by  eleven  o'clock  of  the 
morning.  He  looked  about  reflectively.  The  rough 
board  cabin  and  the  rougher  shaft-house  were 
scarcely  worth  knocking  down  for  lumber.  There, 
on  the  big,  barren  dike,  were  several  tunnels  and 
prospects,  in  addition  to  the  shaft,  all  "  workings  " 
that  Briggs  had  opened  up  in  his  labors  on  the 
ledge.  They  were  mere  yawning  mockeries  of  min 
ing,  but  at  least  had  served  a  charlatan's  require 
ments.  A  few  tools  lay  about,  abominably  neg 
lected. 

The  location  was  rather  attractive,  on  the  whole. 
The  clear  stream  of  water  had  coaxed  a  few  quaking 
aspens  and  alders  into  being,  among  the  stunted 
evergreens.  Grass  lay  greenly  along  the  bank,  a 
charming  relief  to  the  eye.  The  sandy  soil  was 
almost  level  in  the  narrow  cove,  which  was  snugly 
surrounded  by  hills,  except  at  the  lower  extremity, 
where  the  brook  tumbled  down  a  wide  ravine. 

Van,  on  his  horse,  gazed  over  towards  the  Indian 
reservation  idly.  How  vain,  in  all  likelihood,  were 
the  wonderful  tales  of  gold  ledges  lying  within  its 
prohibited  borders.  What  a  madness  was  brewing 

90 


The  Laughing  Water  Claim 

in  the  camps  all  around  as  the  day  for  the  reserva 
tion  opening  rapidly  approached !  How  they  would 
swarm  across  its  hills  and  valleys — those  gold-seek 
ing  men !  What  a  scramble  it  would  be,  and  all  for 
— what  ? 

There  were  tales  in  plenty  of  men  who  had  secretly 
prospected  here  on  this  forbidden  land,  and  marked 
down  wonderful  treasures.  Van  looked  at  his  salted 
possessions.  What  a  chance  for  an  orgie  of  salting 
the  reservation  claims  would  afford! 

With  his  pony  finally  secured  to  a  tree  near  at 
hand,  the  horseman  walked  slowly  about.  A  gold 
pan  lay  rusting,  half  filled  with  rock  and  dirt,  by 
a  bench  before  the  cabin.  It  was  well  worth  clean 
ing  and  taking  away,  together  with  some  of  the 
picks,  drills,  and  hammers. 

He  carried  it  over  to  the  brook.  There  he  knelt 
and  washed  it  out,  only  to  find  it  far  more  rusted 
than  it  had  at  first  appeared.  He  scooped  it  full 
of  the  nearest  gravel  and  scoured  it  roughly  with 
his  hands.  Three  times  he  repeated  this  process, 
washing  it  out  in  the  creek. 

Ready  to  rise  with  it,  cleaned  at  last,  he  caught 
up  a  shallow  film  of  water,  flirted  it  about  with  a 
rotary  motion,  to  sluice  out  the  last  bit  of  stubborn 
dross,  then  paused  to  stare  in  unbelief  at  a  few 
bright  particles  down  at  the  edge,  washed  free  of  all 
the  gravel. 

Incredulous  and  not  in  the  least  excited,  he  drew  a 
small  glass  from  his  pocket  and  held  it  on  the  specks. 

91 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

There  could  be  no  doubt  of  their  nature.  They  were 
gold. 

Interested,  but  doubting  the  importance  of  his 
find,  Van  pawed  up  half  a  pan  full  of  gravel  and 
dipped  the  receptacle  full  of  water.  Then  stirring 
the  sand  and  stuff  with  his  hand,  he  panned  it  care 
fully. 

The  result  at  the  end  was  such  a  string  of  colors 
as  he  had  never  washed  in  all  his  wide  experience. 
To  make  a  superficial  prospect  of  the  claim  he  pro 
ceeded  to  pan  from  a  dozen  different  places  in  the 
cove,  and  in  every  instance  got  an  exceptional  show 
ing  of  coarse,  yellow  gold,  with  which  the  gravel 
abounded. 

He  knelt  motionless  at  last,  beside  the  stream, 
singularly  unperturbed,  despite  the  importance  of 
his  find.  Briggs  had  slipped  up,  absolutely,  on  the 
biggest  thing  in  many  miles  around,  by  salting  and 
selling  a  quartz  claim  here  to  a  man  with  a  modest 
sum  of  money. 

The  cove  was  a  placer  claim,  rich  as  mud  in  gold, 
and  with  everything  needed  at  hand. 

Then  and  there  the  name  of  the  property  was 
changed  from  the  "  See  Saw "  to  the  "  Laughing 
Water  "  claim. 


CHAPTER  XI 

ALGY   STIRS   UP   TROUBLE 

BOSTWICK  arrived  in  Goldite  at  three  in  the  after 
noon,  dressed  in  prison  clothes.  He  came  on  a 
freight  wagon,  the  deliberate  locomotion  of  which  had 
provided  ample  time  for  his  wrath  to  accumulate 
and  simmer.  His  car  was  forty  miles  away,  empty 
of  gasolene,  stripped  of  all  useful  accessories,  and 
abandoned  where  the  convicts  had  compelled  him  to 
drive  them  in  their  flight. 

A  blacker  face  than  his  appeared,  with  anger  and  a 
stubble  of  beard  upon  it,  could  not  have  been  readily 
discovered.  His  story  had  easily  outstripped  him, 
and  duly  amused  the  camp,  so  that  now,  as  he  rode 
along  the  busy  street,  in  a  stream  of  lesser  vehicles, 
autos,  and  dusty  horsemen,  arriving  by  two  confluent 
roads,  he  was  angered  more  and  more  by  the  grins 
and  ribald  pleasantries  bestowed  by  the  throngs  in 
the  road. 

To  complicate  matters  already  sufficiently  aggra 
vating,  Gettysburg,  Napoleon  C.  Blink,  and  Algy, 
the  Chinese  cook,  from  the  Monte  Cristo  mine,  now 
swung  into  line  from  the  northwest  road,  riding  on 
horses  and  burros.  They  were  leading  three  small 
pack  animals,  loaded  with  all  their  earthly  plunder. 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

The  freight  team  halted  and  a  crowd  began  to 
congregate.  Bostwick  was  descending  just  as  the 
pack-train  was  passing  through  the  narrow  way  left 
by  the  crowd.  His  foot  struck  one  of  the  loaded 
burros  in  the  eye.  The  animal  staggered  over 
against  the  wall  of  men,  trampling  on  somebody's 
feet.  Somebody  yelled  and  cursed  vehemently,  step 
ping  on  somebody  else.  A  small-sized  panic  and 
melee  ensued  forthwith.  More  of  the  animals  took 
alarm,  and  Algy  was  frightened  half  to  death.  His 
pony,  a  wall-eyed,  half-witted  brute,  stampeded  in 
the  crowd.  Then  Algy  was  presently  in  trouble. 

There  had  been  no  Chinese  in  Goldite  camp,  largely 
on  account  of  race  prejudice  engendered  and  fostered 
by  the  working  men,  who  still  maintained  the  old 
Calif ornian  hatred  against  the  industrious  Celestials. 
In  the  mob,  unfortunately  near  the  center  of  con 
fusion,  was  a  half-drunken  miner,  rancorous  as  poi 
son.  He  was  somewhat  roughly  jostled  by  the  press 
escaping  Algy's  pony. 

"Ye  blank,  blank  chink— I'll  fix  ye  fer  that!" 
he  bawled  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  and  heaving  his 
fellow  white  men  right  and  left  he  laid  vicious  hands 
on  the  helpless  cook  and,  dragging  him  down,  went 
at  him  in  savage  brutality. 

"  Belay  there,  you  son  of  a  shellfish !  "  yelled  Na 
poleon,  dismounting  and  madly  attempting  to  push 
real  men  away.  "  I'll  smash  in  your  pilot-house ! 
I'll Leave  me  git  in  there  to  Algy ! " 

Gettysburg,  too,  was  on  the  ground.      He,  Bost- 

94 


Algy  Stirs  Up  Trouble 

wick,  and  a  hundred  men  were  madly  crowded  in 
together,  where  two  or  three  were  pushing  back 
the  throng  and  yelling  to  Algy  to  fight. 

Algy  was  fighting.  He  was  also  spouting  most 
awful  Chinese  oaths,  sufficient  to  warp  an  ordinary 
spine  and  wither  a  common  person's  limbs.  He 
kicked  and  scratched  like  a  badger.  But  the  miner 
was  an  engine  of  destruction.  He  was  aggravated 
to  a  mood  of  gory  slaughter.  He  broke  the  China 
man's  arm,  almost  at  once,  with  some  viciously  dia 
bolical  maneuver  and  leaped  upon  him  in  fury. 

In  upon  this  scene  of  yelling,  cursing,  and  fight 
ing  Van  rode  unannounced.  He  saw  the  crowd  in 
creasing  rapidly,  as  saloons,  stores,  hay-yard,  bank, 
and  places  of  lodging  poured  out  a  curious  army, 
mostly  men,  with  a  few  scattered  women  among  them 
— all  surging  eagerly  forward. 

Algy,  meantime,  in  a  spasm  of  pain  and  activity, 
struggled  to  his  feet  from  the  dust  and  attempted 
to  make  his  escape.  Van  no  more  than  beheld  him 
that  he  leaped  from  his  horse  and  broke  his  way  into 
the  ring. 

When  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  miner's  collar  it  ap 
peared  as  if  that  individual  would  be  suddenly  jerked 
apart.  Algy  went  down  in  collapse. 

"  Why  don't  you  pick  on  a  man  of  your  color?  " 
Van  demanded,  and  he  flung  the  miner  headlong  to 
the  ground. 

A  hundred  lusty  citizens  shouted  their  applause. 

Little    Napoleon    broke    his    way    to    the    center. 

95 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

Gettysburg  was  just  behind  him.  Van  was  about 
to  kneel  on  the  ground  and  lift  his  prostrate  cook 
when  someone  bawled  out  a  warning. 

He  wheeled  instantly.  The  angered  miner,  up, 
with  a  gun  in  hand,  was  lurching  in  closer  to  shoot. 
He  got  no  chance,  even  to  level  the  weapon.  Van 
was  upon  him  like  a  panther.  The  gun  went  up 
and  was  fired  in  the  air,  and  then  was  hurled  down 
under  foot. 

Two  things  happened  then  together.  The  sheriff 
arrived  to  arrest  the  drunken  miner,  and  a  woman 
pushed  her  way  through  the  press. 

"Van!"  she  cried.      "Van— oh,  Van!" 

He  was  busy  assisting  his  partners  to  escort  poor 
Algy  away.  He  noted  the  woman  as  she  parted 
the  crowd.  He  was  barely  in  time  to  fend  her  off 
from  flinging  herself  in  his  arms. 

"Oh,  Van!"  she  repeated  wildly.  "I  thought 
you  was  goin'  to  git  it  sure !  " 

"  Don't  bother  me,  Queenie,"  he  answered,  annoyed, 
and  adding  to  Gettysburg,  "  Take  him  to  Charlie's," 
he  turned  at  once  to  his  broncho,  mounted  actively, 
and  began  to  round  up  the  scattered  animals  brought 
into  camp  by  his  partners. 

He  had  barely  ridden  clear  of  the  crowd  when  his 
glance  was  caught  by  a  figure  off  to  the  left. 

It  was  Beth.  She  was  standing  on  a  packing 
case,  where  the  surging  disorder  had  sent  her.  She 
had  seen  it  all,  the  fight,  his  arrival,  and  the  woman 
who  would  have  clasped  him  in  her  arms. 

96 


Algy  Stirs  Up  Trouble 

Her  face  was  flushed.  She  avoided  his  gaze  and 
turned  to  descend  to  the  walk.  Then  Bostwick, 
in  his  convict  suit,  stepped  actively  forward  to  meet 
her. 

Van  saw  the  look  of  surprise  in  her  face,  at  be 
holding  the  man  in  this  attire.  She  recoiled,  despite 
herself,  then  held  forth  her  hand  for  his  aid.  Bost 
wick  took  it,  assisted  her  down,  and  they  hastily 
made  their  escape. 


97 


CHAPTER  XII 

BOSTWICK   LOSES   GROUND 

THE  one  retreat  for  Beth  was  the  house  where 
she  was  lodging.  She  went  there  at  once,  briefly 
explaining  to  Bostwick  on  the  way  how  it  chanced 
she  had  come  the  day  before.  What  had  happened 
to  himself  she  already  knew. 

Bostwick  was  a  thoroughly  angered  man.  He 
had  seen  the  horseman  in  the  fight  and  had  hoped 
to  see  him  slain.  To  find  Beth  safe  and  even  cheer 
ful  here  annoyed  him  exceedingly. 

"  Have  you  lodged  a  complaint — done  anything 
to  have  this  fellow  arrested?  "  he  demanded,  alluding 
to  Van.  "  Have  you  reported  what  was  done  to 
me?" 

"  Why,  no,"  said  Beth.  "  What's  the  use?  He 
did  it  all  in  kindness,  after  all." 

"  Kindness ! " 

"  Of  a  sort — a  rough  sort,  perhaps,  but  genuine — 
a  kindness  to  me — and  Elsa,"  she  answered,  flushing 

rosily.  "  He  saved  me  from "  she  looked  at  the 

convict  garb  upon  him,  " — from  a  disagreeable  ex 
perience,  I'm  sure,  and  secured  me  the  very  best 
accommodations  in  the  town." 

They  had  almost  come   to  her  lodgings.       Bost- 

98 


Bostwick  Loses  Ground 

wick  halted  in  the  road,  his  gun-metal  jaw  protrud 
ing  formidably. 

"  You  haven't  already  begun  to  admire  this  ruffian 
— glorify  this  outlaw?  "  he  growled,  " — after  what 
he  did  to  me  ?  " 

"  Don't  stop  to  discuss  it  here,"  she  answered, 
beholding  Mrs.  Dick  at  the  front  of  the  house.  "  I 
haven't  had  time  to  do  anything.  You  must  manage 
to  change  your  clothes." 

"  I'll  have  my  reckoning  with  your  friend,"  he 
assured  her  angrily.  "  Have  you  engaged  a  suite 
for  me?  " 

They  had  come  to  the  door  of  the  house.  Beth 
beheld  the  look  of  amazement,  suspicion,  and  repug 
nance  on  the  face  of  Mrs.  Dick,  and  her  face  burned 
red  once  more. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Dick,"  she  said,  "  this  is  Mr.  Bostwick, 
of  whom  I  spoke."  She  had  told  of  Bostwick's  cap 
ture  by  the  convicts.  "  Do  you  think  you  could  find 
him  a  room  ?  " 

"  A  room?  I  want  a  suite — two  rooms  at  least," 
said  Bostwick  aggressively.  "  Is  this  a  first-class 
place?" 

"  It  ain't  no  regular  heaven,  and  I  ain't  no  regu 
lar  Mrs.  Saint  Peter,"  answered  Mrs.  Dick  with  con 
siderable  heat,  irritated  by  Bostwick's  personality 
and  recognizing  in  him  Van's  "  smoke-faced  East 
erner."  She  added  crisply :  "  So  you  might  as  well 
vamoose  the  ranch,  fer  I  couldn't  even  put  you  in 
the  shed." 

99 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"  But  I've  got  to  have  accommodations !  "  insisted 
Bostwick.  "  I  prefer  them  where  my  fiancee — where 
Miss  Kent  is  stopping.  I'm  sure  you  can  manage 
it  someway — let  someone  go.  The  price  is  no  object 
to  me." 

"  I  don't  want  you  that  bad,"  said  Mrs.  Dick 
frankly.  "  I  said  no  and  I'm  too  busy  to  say  it 
again." 

She  bustled  off  with  her  ant-like  celerity,  followed 
by  Bostwick's  scowls. 

"  You'll  have  to  give  up  your  apartments  here," 
he  said  to  Beth.  "  I'll  find  something  better  at 
once." 

"  Thank  you,  I'm  very  well  satisfied,"  said  Beth. 
"  You'll  find  this  town  quite  overcrowded." 

"  You  mean  you  propose  to  stay  here  in  spite 
of  my  wishes?  " 

"Please  don't  wish  anything  absurd,"  she  an 
swered.  "  This  is  really  no  place  for  fastidious 
choosing — and  I  am  very  comfortable." 

A  lanky  youth,  with  a  suitcase  and  three  leather 
bags,  came  shuffling  around  the  corner  and  dropped 
down  his  load. 

"  Van  told  me  to  bring  'em  here  with  his — some 
thing  I  don't  remember,"  imparted  the  youth. 
"  That's  all,"  and  he  grinned  and  departed. 

Bostwick  glowered,  less  pleased  than  before. 

"  That  fellow,  I  presume.  He  evidently  knows 
where  you  are  stopping." 

Beth  was  beginning  to  feel  annoyed  and  somewhat 

100 


Bostwick  Loses  Ground 

defiant.  She  had  never  dreamed  this  man  could 
appear  so  repellant  as  now,  with  his  stubble  of  beard 
and  this  convict  garb  upon  him.  She  met  his  glance 
coldly. 

"  He  found  me  the  place.  I  am  considerably  in 
his  obligation." 

Bostwick's  face  grew  blacker. 

"  Obligation  ?  Why  don't  you  admit  at  once  you 
admire  the  fellow? — or  something  more.  By  God! 
I've  endured  about  as  much " 

"Mr.  Bostwick!"  she  interrupted.  She  added 
more  quietly :  "  You've  been  very  much  aggravated. 
I'm  sorry.  Now  please  go  somewhere  and  change 
your  clothing." 

"  Aggravated  ?  "  he  echoed.  "  You  ought  to 
know  what  he  is,  by  instinct.  You  must  have  seen 
him  in  a  common  street  brawl !  You  must  have  seen 
that  woman — that  red-light  night-hawk  throwing 
herself  in  his  arms.  And  to  think  that  you — with 

Glenmore  in  town Why  isn't  your  brother  here 

with  you  ?  " 

Beth  was  smarting.  The  sense  of  mortification 
she  had  felt  at  the  sight  of  that  woman  in  the  street 
with  Van,  coupled  with  the  sheer  audacity  of  his 
conduct  towards  herself  that  morning,  had  already 
sufficiently  shamed  her.  She  refused,  however,  to 
discuss  such  a  question  with  Bostwick. 

"  Glen  isn't  here,"  she  answered  coldly.  "  I  trust 
you  will  soon  be  enabled  to  find  him — then — we  can 
go." 

101 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"  Not  here?  "  repeated  Bostwick.  "Where  is  he, 
then?" 

"  Somewhere  out  in  another  camp — or  mining 
place — or  something.  Now  please  go  and  dress. 
We  can  talk  it  over  later." 

"  This  is  abominable  of  Glen,"  said  Bostwick.  "  Is 
McCoppet  in  town?  " 

She  looked  her  surprise.      "  McCoppet?  " 

"  You  don't  know  him,  of  course,"  he  hastened  to 
say.  "  I  shall  try  to  find  him  at  once."  He  turned 
to  go,  beheld  her  luggage,  and  added :  "  Is  there 
anyone  to  take  up  your  things?  " 

She  could  not  bear  to  have  him  enter  her  apart 
ment  in  this  awful  prison  costume. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  answered.  "  You  needn't  be  both 
ered  with  the  bags." 

"  Very  well.  I  shall  soon  return."  He  departed 
at  once,  his  impatience  suddenly  increased  by  the 
thought  of  seeking  out  McCoppet. 

Beth  watched  him  going.  A  sickening  sense  of 
revulsion  invaded  all  her  nature.  And  when  her 
thoughts,  like  lawless  rebels,  stole  guiltily  to  Van, 
she  might  almost  have  boxed  her  own  tingling  ears 
in  sheer  vexation. 

She  entered  the  house,  summoned  Elsa  from  her 
room,  and  had  the  luggage  carried  to  their  quarters. 
Then  she  opened  her  case,  removed  some  dainty  finery, 
and  vaguely  wondered  if  the  horseman  would  like 
her  in  old  lavender. 

Van,  in  the  meantime,  had  been  busy  at  the  hay- 

102 


Bostwick  Loses  Ground 

yard  known  as  Charlie's.  Not  only  had  Algy's  arm 
been  broken,  by  the  bully  in  the  fight,  but  he  had 
likewise  been  seriously  mauled  and  beaten.  His  head 
had  been  cut,  he  was  hurt  internally.  A  doctor, 
immediately  summoned  by  the  horseman,  had  set  the 
fractured  member.  Algy  had  then  been  put  to  bed 
in  a  tent  that  was  pitched  in  the  yard  where  the 
horses,  mules,  cows,  pyramids  of  merchandise,  and 
teamsters  were  thicker  than  flies  on  molasses. 

Gettysburg  and  Napoleon,  quietly  informed  by 
Van  of  the  latest  turn  of  their  fortune,  were  wholly 
unexcited  by  the  news.  The  attack  on  Algy,  how 
ever,  had  acted  potently  upon  them.  They  started 
to  get  drunk  and  achieved  half  a  load  before  Van 
could  herd  them  back  to  camp. 

Napoleon  was  not  only  partially  submerged  when 
Van  effected  his  capture;  he  was  also  shaved.  Van 
looked  him  over  critically. 

"  Nap,"  he  said,  "  what  does  this  mean  ? — you 
wasting  money  on  your  face?  " 

Napoleon  drunk  became  a  stutterer,  who  whistled 
between  his  discharges  of  seltzer. 

"Wheresh  that  little  g-g-g-( whistle)  girl?"  he 
answered,  " — lit-tle  D-d-d-d- (whistle)  Dutch  one 
that  looksh  like — looksh  like — quoth  the  r-r-r-r- 
( whistle)  raven— NEVER  MORE!" 

Van  divined  that  this  description  was  intended  to 
indicate  Elsa. 

"  Gone  back  to  China,"  said  he.  "  That  shave  of 
yours  is  wasted  on  the  desert  air." 

103 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

Gettysburg,  whose  intellect  was  top  heavy,  had 
the  singular  habit,  at  a  time  like  this,  of  removing 
his  crockery  eye  and  holding  it  firmly  in  his  fist, 
to  guard  it  from  possible  destruction.  He  stared 
uncertainly  at  both  his  companions. 

"  China ! "  said  he  tragically.      "  China?  " 

"  Hold  on,  now,  Gett,"  admonished  Van,  steering  his 
tall  companion  as  a  man  might  steer  a  ladder,  "  you 
don't  break  out  in  the  woman  line  again  or  there's 
going  to  be  some  concentrated  anarchy  in  camp." 

"No,  Van,  no — now  honest,  no  woman,"  said 
Gettysburg  in  a  confidential  murmur.  "  I  had  my 
woman  eye  took  out  the  last  time  I  went  down  to 
'Frisco." 

"You're  a  l-l-l-( whistle)  liar!"  ejaculated  Na 
poleon. 

"  What !  "  Gettysburg  fairly  shrieked. 

"  Metaphorical  speakin' — meta  phor-f-f-f-f-f- 
( whistle)  phorical  speakin',"  Napoleon  hastened  to 
explain.  "  Met  aphor-f-f-f-(  whistle) -phorical  means 
you  don't  really  m-m-m-m( whistle)  mean  what  you 
say — means — quoth  the  r-r-r-r-r-(  whistle)  raven 
-NEVER  MORE ! " 

Van  said :  "  If  you  two  old  idiots  don't  do  the  lion 
and  the  lamb  act  pretty  pronto  I'll  send  you  both 
to  the  poor  house." 

They  had  entered  the  hay-yard,  among  the  mules 
and  horses.  Gettysburg  promptly  reached  down, 
laid  hold  of  Napoleon,  and  kissed  him  violently  upon 
the  nose. 

104 


Bostmck  Loses  Ground 

Napoleon  wept.  "  What  did  I  s-s-s-s-( whistle) 
say?"  he  sobbed  lugubriously.  "Oh,  death,  where 
is  thy  s-s-s-s-( whistle)  sting?  " 

Evening  had  come.  The  two  fell  asleep  in  Algy's 
tent,  locked  in  each  other's  arms. 


105 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A  COMBINATION  OF  FORCES 

BOSTWICK  effected  a  change  of  dress  in  the  rear 
of  the  nearest  store.  A  rough  blue  shirt,  stout 
kahki  garments  and  yellow  "  hiking "  boots  con 
verted  him  into  one  of  the  common  units  of  which 
the  camp  throng  was  comprised.  He  was  then  duly 
barbered,  after  which  he  made  a  strenuous  but  futile 
endeavor  to  procure  accommodations  for  the  night. 

There  was  no  one  with  leisure  to  listen  to  his  tirade 
on  the  shameful  inadequacy  of  the  attributes  of 
civilization  in  the  camp,  and  after  one  brief  attempt 
to  arouse  civic  indignation  against  Van  for  his  acts 
of  deliberate  lawlessness,  he  perceived  the  ease  with 
which  he  might  commit  an  error  and  render  himself 
ridiculous.  He  dropped  all  hope  of  publicly  hu 
miliating  the  horseman  and  deferred  his  private  ven 
geance  for  a  time  more  opportune. 

Wholly  at  a  loss  to  cope  with  a  situation  wherein 
he  found  himself  so  utterly  neglected  and  unknown, 
despite  the  influential  position  he  occupied  both  in 
New  York  and  Washington,  he  resolved  to  throw  him 
self  entirely  upon  the  mercies  of  McCoppet. 

He  knew  his  man  only  through  their  correspond 
ence,  induced  by  Beth's  brother,  Glenmore  Kent.  In- 

106 


A  Combination  of  Forces 

quiring  at  the  bank,  he  was  briefly  directed  to  the 
largest  saloon  of  the  place.  When  he  entered  the 
bar  he  found  it  swarming  full  of  men,  miners,  pro 
moters,  teamsters,  capitalists,  gamblers,  lawyers,  and 
— the  Lord  alone  knew  what.  The  air  was  a  reek 
of  smoke  and  fumes  of  liquor.  A  blare  of  alleged 
music  shocked  the  atmosphere.  Men  drunk  and  men 
sober,  all  were  talking  mines  and  gold,  the  greatness 
of  the  camp,  the  richness  of  the  latest  finds,  and 
the  marvel  of  their  private  properties.  Everyone 
had  money,  everyone  had  chunks  of  ore  to  show  to 
everyone  else. 

At  the  rear  were  six  tables  with  layouts  for  games 
of  chance.  Faro,  "  klondike,"  roulette,  stud-poker, 
almost  anything  possibly  to  be  desired  was  there. 
All  were  in  full  blast.  Three  deep  the  men  were 
gathered  about  the  wheel  and  the  "  tiger."  Gold 
money  in  stacks  stood  at  every  dealer's  hand.  Bost- 
wick  had  never  seen  so  much  metal  currency  in  all 
his  life. 

He  asked  for  McCoppet  at  the  bar. 

"Opal?  Somewhere  back — that's  him  there, 
talkin'  to  the  guy  with  the  fur  on  his  jaw,"  informed 
the  barkeeper,  making  a  gesture  with  his  thumb. 
"  What's  your  poison  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  thank  you,"  answered  Bostwick,  who 
started  for  his  man,  but  halted  for  McCoppet  to 
finish  his  business  with  his  friend. 

The  man  on  whom  Bostwick  was  gazing  was  a 
tall,  slender,  slightly  stooped  individual  of  perhaps 

107 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

forty-five,  with  a  wonderful  opal  in  his  tie,  from 
which  he  had  derived  his  sobriquet.  He  was  clean- 
shaved,  big  featured,  and  gifted  with  a  pair  of  heavy- 
lidded  eyes  as  lustreless  as  old  buttons.  He  had 
never  been  seen  without  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  but 
the  weed  was  never  lighted. 

Bostwick  noted  the  carefulness  of  the  man's  attire, 
but  gained  no  clue  as  to  his  calling.  To  avoid  stupid 
staring  he  turned  to  watch  a  game  of  faro.  Its 
fascinations  were  rapidly  engrossing  his  attentions 
and  luring  him  onward  toward  a  reckless  desire  to 
tempt  the  goddess  of  chance,  when  he  presently  be 
held  McCoppet  turn  away  from  his  man  and  saunter 
down  the  room. 

A  moment  later  Bostwick  touched  him  on  the  shoul 
der. 

"Beg  pardon,"  he  said,  "Mr.  McCoppet?" 

McCoppet  nodded.      "  My  name." 

"  I'd  like  to  introduce  myself — J.  Searle  Bost 
wick,"  said  the  visitor.  "  I  expected  to  arrive,  as 
I  wrote  you " 

"  Glad  to  meet  you,  Bostwick,"  interrupted  the 
other,  putting  forth  his  hand.  "  Where  are  you 
putting  up?" 

"  I  haven't  been  able  to  find  accommodations," 
answered  Bostwick  warmly.  "  It's  an  outrage  the 
way  this  town  is  conducted.  I  thought  perhaps " 

"  I'll  fix  you  all  right,"  cut  in  McCoppet.  "  Are 
you  ready  for  a  talk?  Nothing  has  waited  for  you 
to  come." 

108 


A  Combination  of  Forces 

"  I  came  for  an  interview — in  fact " 

"  Private  room  back  here,"  McCoppet  announced, 
and  he  started  to  lead  the  way,  pausing  for  a  mo 
ment  near  a  faro  table  to  cast  a  cold  glance  at  the 
dealer. 

"  Wonderfully  interesting  game,"  said  Bostwick. 
"  It  seems  as  if  a  man  might  possibly  beat  it." 

There  might  have  been  a  shade  of  contempt  in 
the  glance  McCoppet  cast  upon  him.  He  merely 
said:  "He  can't." 

Bostwick  laughed.      "  You  seem  very  positive." 

McCoppet  was  moving  on  again. 

"  I  own  the  game." 

He  owned  everything  here,  and  had  his  designs 
on  two  more  places  like  it,  down  the  street.  He 
almost  owned  the  souls  of  many  men,  but  gold 
and  power  were  the  goals  on  which  his  eyes  were 
riveted. 

Bostwick  glanced  at  him  with  newer  interest  as 
they  passed  down  the  room,  and  so  to  a  tight  little 
office  the  walls  of  which  were  specially  deadened 
against  the  transmission  of  sound. 

"Have  anything  to  drink?"  inquired  the  owner, 
before  he  took  a  chair,  " — whiskey,  wine?  " 

"  Thanks,  no,"  said  Bostwick,  "  not  just  yet."  He 
took  the  chair  to  which  McCoppet  waved  him.  "  I 
must  say  I'm  surprised,"  he  admitted,  "  to  see  the 
numbers  of  men,  the  signs  of  activity,  and  all  the 
rest  of  it  in  a  camp  so  young.  And  by  the  way, 
it  seems  young  Kent  is  away." 

109 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"  Yes,"  said  the  gambler,  settling  deeply  into  his 
chair  and  sleepily  observing  his  visitor.  "  I  sent 
him  away  last  week." 

Bostwick  was  eager. 

"  On  something  good  for  the — for  our  little 
group  ?  " 

"  On  a  wild  goose  seance,"  answered  McCoppet. 
"  He's  in  the  way  around  here." 

"  Oh,"  said  Bostwick,  who  failed  to  understand. 
"  I  thought " 

"  Yes.  I  culled  your  thought  from  your  letters," 
interrupted  his  host  drawlingly.  "  We  might  as 
well  understand  each  other  first  as  last.  Bostwick — 
are  you  out  here  to  work  this  camp  my  way  or  the 
kid's?" 

Bostwick  was  cautious.  "  How  does  he  wish  to 
work  it?  " 

"  Like  raising  potatoes." 

"  And  your  plan  is " 

"  Look  here,  do  I  stack  up  like  a  Sunday-school 
superintendent?  I  thought  you  and  I  understood 
each  other.  I  don't  run  no  game  the  other  man 
can  maybe  beat.  Didn't  you  come  out  here  with 
that  understanding?  " 

"  Certainly,  I " 

"  Then  never  mind  the  kid.  What  have  you  got 
in  your  kahki?  " 

"  Our  syndicate  to  buy  the  Hen  Hawk  group " 

started  Bostwick,  but  the  gambler  cut  in  sharply. 

"  That's  sold  and  cold.      You  have  to  move  here ; 

110 


A  Combination  of  Forces 

things  happen.  What  did  you  do  about  the  reserva 
tion  permit?  " 

Bostwick  looked  about  the  room  furtively,  and 
edged  his  chair  a  bit  closer. 

"  I  secured  permission  from  Government  head 
quarters  to  explore  all  or  any  portions  of  the  reserva 
tion,  and  take  assistants  with  me,"  he  imparted  in 
a  lowered  tone  of  voice.  "  I  had  it  mailed  to  me 
here  by  registered  post.  It  should  be  at  the  post- 
office  now." 

"  Right,"  said  McCoppet  with  more  of  an  accent 
of  approval  in  his  utterance.  "Get  it  out  to-day. 
I've  got  your  corps  of  assistants  hobbled  here  in 
camp.  They  can  get  on  the  ground  to-morrow 
morning." 

Bostwick's  eyes  were  gleaming. 

"There's  certainly  gold  on  this  reservation?" 

"  Now,  how  can  anybody  tell  you  that?  "  demanded 
McCoppet,  who  from  his  place  here  in  Goldite  had 
engineered  the  plan  whereby  his  and  Bostwick's  expert 
prospectors  could  explore  every  inch  of  the  Govern 
ment's  forbidden  land  in  advance  of  all  competitors. 
"We're  taking  a  flyer,  that's  all.  If  there's  any 
thing  there — we're  on." 

Bostwick  reflected  for  a  moment.  "  There's  noth 
ing  at  present  that  our  syndicate  could  do?  " 

"  There'll  be  plenty  of  chances  to  use  ready 
money,"  McCoppet  assured  him,  rising.  "  You're 
here  on  the  ground.  Keep  your  shirt  on  and  leave 
the  shuffling  to  me." 

Ill 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

Bostwick,  too,  arose.  "  How  long  will  young 
Kent  be  away?" 

"  As  long  as  I  can  keep  him  busy  out  South." 

"What  is  he  doing  out  South?" 

"  Locating  a  second  Goldite,"  said  the  gambler. 
"  Keeps  him  on  the  move."  He  threw  away  his 
chewed  cigar,  placed  a  new  one  in  his  mouth,  and 
started  for  the  door.  "  Come  on,"  he  added,  "  I'll 
identify  you  over  at  the  postoffice  and  show  you 
where  you  sleep." 


112 


i 


K 


CHAPTER  XIV 

MOVING   A    SHACK 

LESS  than  a  week  had  passed  since  Bostwick's 
arrival  in  Goldite,  but  excitement  was  rife  in  the 
air.  Despite  the  angered  protests  of  half  a  thou 
sand  mining  men,  the  Easterner,  with  four  of  the 
shrewdest  prospectors  in  the  State,  had  traversed  the 
entire  mineral  region  of  the  reservation  in  the  utmost 
security  and  assurance.  Five  hundred  men  had  been 
forced  to  remain  at  the  border,  at  the  points  of 
official  guns.  A  few  desperate  adventurers  had  crept 
through  the  guard,  but  nearly  all  were  presently 
captured  and  ejected  from  the  place,  while  Bostwick 
— granted  special  privileges — was  assuming  this  in 
side  track. 

The  day  for  the  opening  of  the  lands  was  less 
than  two  weeks  off — and  the  news  leaked  out  and 
spread  like  a  wind  that  the  "  Laughing  Water " 
claim  had  suddenly  promised  amazing  wealth  as  a 
placer  where  Van  and  his  partners  were  taking  out 
the  gold  by  the  simplest,  most  primitive  of  methods. 

The  rush  for  the  region  came  like  a  stampede  of 
cattle.  An  army  of  men  went  swarming  over  the 
ridges  and  overran  the  country  like  a  plague  of  ants. 

113 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

They  trooped  across  the  border  of  the  reservation, 
so  close  to  the  "  Laughing  Water  "  claim,  they  staked 
out  all  the  visible  world,  above,  below,  and  all  about 
Van's  property,  they  tore  down  each  others'  monu 
ments,  including  a  number  where  Van  had  located 
new,  protective  claims,  and  they  builded  a  tent  town 
over  night,  not  a  mile  from  his  first  discovery. 

At  the  claim  in  the  cove  the  fortunate  holders  of 
a  private  treasury  of  gold  had  lost  no  time.  In 
the  absence  of  better  lumber,  for  which  they  had  no 
money,  Van  and  his  partners  had  torn  down  the 
shaft-house,  made  it  into  sluices,  and  turned  in  the 
water  from  the  stream.  That  was  all  the  plant 
required.  They  had  then  commenced  to  shovel  the 
gravel  into  the  trough-like  boxes,  and  the  gold  had 
begun  to  lodge  behind  the  riffles. 

The  cove  became  a  theatre  of  curiosity,  envy, 
and  covetous  longings.  Men  came  there  by  motor, 
on  horses,  mules,  and  on  foot  to  take  one  delirious 
look  and  rush  madly  about  to  improve  what  chances 
still  remained.  The  fame  of  it  swept  like  prairie 
fire,  far  and  wide.  The  new-made  town  began  at 
once  to  spread  and  encroach  upon  all  who  were  care 
less  of  their  holdings.  Lawlessness  was  rampant. 

At  the  cabin  on  the  "  Laughing  Water  "  claim 
Algy,  the  Chinese  cook,  was  still  disabled.  Gettys 
burg  was  chief  culinary  artist.  Napoleon  hustled 
for  grub,  the  only  supplies  of  which  were  over  at 
Goldite — and  expensive.  All  were  constantly  ex 
hausted  with  the  labors  of  the  day. 


Moving  a  Shack 

Despite  their  vigilance  they  awoke  one  morning 
to  see  a  brand-new  cabin  standing  on  the  claim, 
at  the  top  of  a  hill.  A  man  was  on  the  rough  pine 
roof,  rapidly  laying  weather  paper.  Van  beheld  him, 
watched  him  for  a  moment,  then  quietly  walked  over 
to  the  site. 

"  Say,  friend,"  he  called  to  the  man  on  the  roof, 
"  you've  broken  into  Eden  by  mistake.  This  prop 
erty  is  mine  and  I  haven't  any  building  lots  to 
sell." 

The  visiting  builder  took  out  a  huge  revolver  and 
laid  it  on  a  block.  He  said  nothing  at  all.  Van 
felt  his  impatience  rising. 

"  I'm  talking  to  you,  Mr.  Carpenter,"  he  added. 
"  Come  on,  now,  I  don't  want  any  trouble  with  neigh 
bors,  but  this  cabin  will  have  to  be  removed." 

"  Go  to  hell !  "  said  the  builder.  He  continued  to 
pound  in  his  nails. 

"  If  I  go,"  said  Van  calmly,  "  I'll  bring  a  little 
back.  Are  you  going  to  move  or  be  moved?  " 

"  Don't  talk  to  me,  I'm  busy,"  answered  the  ia- 
truder.  "  I'm  an  irritable  man,  and  everything  I 
own  is  irritable,  understand?"  And  taking  up  his 
gun  he  thumped  with  it  briskly  on  the  boards. 

"  If  you're  looking  for  trouble,"  Van  replied, 
"  you  won't  need  a  double-barreled  glass." 

He  turned  away  and  the  man  continued  operations. 
When  he  came  to  the  shack  Van  selected  a  hammer 
and  a  couple  of  drills  from  among  a  lot  of  tools 
in  the  corner. 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

r 

To  his  partner's  questions  as  to  what  the  visitor 

intended  he  replied  that  only  time  could  tell. 

"  Here,  Nap,"  he  added,  fetching  forth  the  tools, 
"  I  want  you  to  take  this  junk  and  go  up  there  where 
the  neighbor  is  working.  Just  sit  down  quietly  and 
drill  three  shallow  holes  and  don't  say  a  word 
to  yonder  busy  bee.  If  he  asks  you  what's  do 
ing,  play  possum — and  don't  make  the  holes  too 
deep." 

Napoleon  went  off  as  directed.  His  blows  could 
presently  be  heard  as  he  drilled  in  a  porphyry 
dike. 

His  advent  puzzled  the  man  intent  on  building. 

"  Say,  you,"  said  he,  "  what's  on  your  pro 
gramme  ?  " 

Napoleon  drilled  and  said  nothing. 

The  carpenter  watched  him  in  some  uneasiness. 

"  Say,  you  ain't  starting  a  shaft  ?  " 

No  answer. 

"  Ain't  this  a  placer?     Say,  you,  are  you  deef  ?  " 

Napoleon  pounded  on  the  steel. 

"  Go  to  hell ! "  said  the  builder,  as  he  had  before, 
" — a  man  that  can't  answer  civil  questions !  " 

He  resumed  his  labors,  pausing  now  and  then  to 
stare  at  Napoleon,  in  a  steadily  increasing  dubiety 
of  mind. 

In  something  less  than  twenty  minutes  he  had 
done  very  little  roofing,  owing  to  a  nervousness  he 
found  it  hard  to  banish,  while  Napoleon  had  all  but 
completed  his  holes.  Then  Van  came  leisurely  strol- 

116 


Moving  a  Shack 

ling  to  the  place,  comfortably  loaded  with  dynamite, 
of  which  a  man  may  carry  much. 

With  utter  indifference  to  the  man  on  the  roof 
he  proceeded  to  charge  those  shallow  holes.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  he  overcharged  them.  He  used  an 
exceptional  amount  of  the  harmless  looking  stuff, 
and  laid  a  short  fuse  to  the  cap.  When  he  turned 
to  the  builder,  who  had  watched  proceedings  with 
a  sickening  alarm  at  his  vitals,  that  industrious  per 
son  had  taken  on  a  heavy,  leaden  hue. 

"  You  see  I  went  where  you  told  me,"  said  Van, 
"  and  I've  brought  some  back  as  I  promised.  This 
shot  has  got  to  go  before  breakfast — and  breakfast 
is  just  about  ready." 

"  For  God's  sake  give  a  man  a  chance,"  implored 
the  man  who  had  trespassed  in  the  night.  "I'll 
move  the  shack  to-morrow." 

"  You  won't  have  to,"  Van  informed  him,  "  but 
you'd  better  move  your  meat  to-day." 

He  took  out  a  match,  scratched  it  with  quiet  de 
liberation  and  lighted  the  end  of  the  fuse. 

"  For  God's  sake — man  !  "  cried  the  carpenter,  and 
without  even  waiting  to  climb  from  the  roof  he  rolled 
to  the  edge  in  a  panic,  fell  off  on  his  feet,  and  ran 
as  if  all  the  fiends  of  Hades  were  fairly  at  his 
heels. 

Van  and  Napoleon  also  moved  away  with  becoming 
alacrity.  Three  minutes  later  the  charge  went  off. 
It  sounded  like  the  crack  of  doom.  It  seemed  to 
split  the  earth  and  very  firmament.  A  huge  black 

117 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

toadstool  of  smoke  rose  up  abruptly.  Something 
like  a  blot  of  yellowish  color  spattered  all  over  the 
landscape.  It  was  the  shack. 

It  had  moved.  The  smoke  cloud  drifted  rapidly 
away.  On  the  hill  was  a  great  jagged  hole,  lined 
with  rock,  but  there  was  nothing  more.  The  cabin 
was  hung  in  lumber  shreds  on  the  stunted  trees  for 
hundreds  of  feet  in  all  directions.  With  it  went 
hammers,  saws  and  a  barrel  of  nails  whose  usefulness 
was  ended. 

Gettysburg,  aproned,  and  fresh  from  his  labors 
at  the  stove,  came  hastening  out  of  the  cabin  to 
where  his  partners  stood,  in  great  distress  of  mind. 

"  Holy  toads,  Van ! "  he  said  excitedly,  "  it  must 
have  been  the  shot  1  I've  dropped  an  egg — and  what 
in  the  world  shall  I  do?  " 

"  Cackle,  man,  cackle,"  Van  answered  him  gravely. 
"  That's  a  mighty  rare  occurrence." 

"  And  two-bits  apiece !  "  almost  wailed  poor  Gettys 
burg,  diving  back  into  the  cabin,  "  and  only  them 
four  in  the  shack ! " 

That  was  also  the  day  that  Bostwick  came  out 
upon  the  scene.  He  came  with  his  prospectors,  all 
the  party  somewhat  disillusionized  as  to  all  that 
fabled  gold  upon  the  Indian  reservation. 

Some  word  of  the  wealth  of  the  "  Laughing 
Water  "  claim  had  come  to  Searle  early  in  the  week. 
He  did  not  visit  the  cabin  or  the  owners  of  the 
cove.  For  fifteen  minutes,  however,  he  sat  upon  his 
horse  and  scanned  the  place  in  silence.  Then  out 

118 


Moving  a  Shack 

of  his  newly-acquired  knowledge  of  the  boundaries 
of  the  reservation  the  hounds  of  his  mind  jumped  up 
a  half-mad  plan.  His  cold  eyes  glittered  as  he 
looked  across  to  where  Van  and  his  partners  were  toil 
ing.  His  lips  were  compressed  in  a  smile. 

He  rode  to  Goldite  hurriedly  and  sought  out  his 
friend  McCoppet.  When  the  two  were  presently 
closeted  together  where  their  privacy  was  assured, 
a  conspiracy,  diabolically  insidious,  was  about  to  have 
its  birth. 


119 


CHAPTER  XV 

HATCHING    A    PLOT 

"  YOU'RE  back  pretty  pronto,"  drawled  the  gam 
bler,  by  way  of  an  opening  remark.  "  Found  some 
thing  too  big  to  keep  hidden  ?  " 

"  That  reservation  is  a  false  alarm,  as  Billy  and 
the  others  will  tell  you,"  answered  Bostwick,  refer 
ring  to  McCoppet's  chosen  prospectors.  "  The  rush 
will  prove  a  farce." 

"You've  decided  sudden,  ain't  you?"  asked  Mc- 
Coppet.  "  There's  a  good  big  deck  there  to  stack." 

"  We've  wasted  time  and  money  till  to-day." 
Bostwick  rose  from  his  chair,  put  one  foot  upon  it, 
and  leaned  towards  the  gambler  as  one  assuming  a 
position  of  equality,  if  not  of  something  more. 
"  Look  here,  McCoppet,  you  asked  me  the  day  I 
arrived  what  sort  of  a  game  I'd  come  to  play.  I 
ask  you  now  if  you  are  prepared  to  play  something 
big — and — well,  let  us  say,  a  trifle  risky  ?  " 

"Don't  insult  my  calling,"  answered  the  gambler. 
"  I  call.  Lay  your  cards  on  the  table." 

Bostwick  sat  down  and  leaned  across  the  soiled 
green  baize. 

"  You  probably  know  as  much  as  I  do  about  the 

120 


Hatching  a  Plot 

'  Laughing  Water '  claim — its  richness — its  owners 
— and  where  it's  located." 

McCoppet  nodded,  narrowing  his  eyes. 

"  A  good  dog  could  smell  their  luck  from  here." 

"  But  do  you  know  where  it  lies — their  claim?  " 
insisted  Bostwick  significantly.  "  That's  the  point 
I'm  making  at  present." 

"  It's  just  this  side  of  the  reservation,  from  what 
I  hear,"  replied  the  gambler,  "  but  if  there's  nothing 
on  the  reservation  even  near  the  '  Laughing  Water ' 
ground " 

Bostwick  interrupted  impatiently :  "  What's  the 
matter  with  the  '  Laughing  Water '  bemg  on  the  re 
servation  ?  " 

McCoppet  was  sharp  but  he  failed  to  grasp  his 
associate's  meaning. 

"  But  it  ain't,"  he  said,  "  and  no  one  claims  it 
is." 

Bostwick  lowered  his  voice  and  looked  at  the  gam 
bler  peculiarly. 

"  No  one  claims  it  yet!  " 

McCoppet  threw  away  his  cigar  and  took  out  a 
new  one. 

"Well?     Come  on.     I  bite.    What's  the  answer  ?" 

Bostwick  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"  Suppose  an  accredited  surveyor  were  to  run  out 
the  reservation  line — the  line  next  the  '  Laughing 
Water '  claim — and  make  an  error  of  an  inch  at 
the  farthest  end.  Suppose  that  inch,  projected  sev 
eral  miles,  became  about  a  thousand  feet — wouldn't 

121 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

the  '  Laughing  Water '  claim  be  discovered  to  be  a 
part  of  the  Indian  reservation  ?  " 

McCoppet  eyed  him  narrowly,  in  silence,  for  a 
moment.  He  had  suddenly  conceived  a  new  estimate 
of  the  man  who  had  come  from  New  York. 

Bostwick  again  leaned  forward,  continuing: 

"No  one  will  be  aware  of  the  facts  but  ourselves 
— therefore  no  one  will  think  of  attempting  to  re 
locate  the  '  Laughing  Water  '  ground,  lawfully,  at 
six  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the  rush.  But  we  will 
be  on  hand,  with  the  law  at  our  backs,  and  quietly 
take  possession  of  the  property,  on  which — as  it  is 
reservation  ground — the  present  occupants  are  tres 
passing." 

McCoppet  heard  nothing  of  what  his  friend  was 
saying.  All  the  possibilities  outlined  had  flashed 
through  his  mind  at  Bostwick's  first  intimation  of 
the  plan.  He  was  busy  now  with  affairs  far  ahead 
in  the  scheme. 

"  Culver,  the  Government  agent  and  surveyor  is 
a  dark  one,"  he  mused  aloud,  half  to  himself.  "  If 

only  Lawrence,  his  deputy,  was  in  his  shoes 

Your  frame-up  sounds  pretty  tight,  Bostwick,  but 
Culver  may  block  us  with  his  damnable  square 
ness." 

"  Every  man  has  his  price,"  said  Bostwick,  " — big 
and  little.  Culver,  you  say,  represents  the  Govern 
ment  ?  Where  is  he  now  ?  " 

McCoppet  replied  with  a  question :  "  Bostwick, 
how  much  have  you  got  ?  " 

122 


Hatching  a  Plot 

Bostwick  flushed.  "Money?  Oh,  I  can  raise 
my  share,  I  hope." 

"You  hope?"  repeated  the  gambler.  "Ain't 
your  syndicate  back  of  any  game  you  open,  with 
the  money  to  see  it  started  right  ?  " 

Bostwick  was  a  trifle  uneasy.  The  "  syndicate  " 
of  which  he  had  spoken  was  entirely  comprised  of 
Beth  and  her  money,  which  he  hoped  presently  to 
call  his  own.  He  had  worked  his  harmless  little 
fiction  of  big  financial  men  behind  him  in  the  cer 
tainty  of  avoiding  detection. 

"  Of  course,  I  can  call  on  the  money,"  he  said, 
"  but  I  may  need  a  day  or  so  to  get  it.  How  much 
shall  we  require  ?  " 

McCoppet  chewed  his  cigar  reflectively. 

"  Culver  will  sure  come  high — if  we  get  him  at  all 
— but — it  ought  to  be  worth  fifty  thousand  to  you 
and  me  to  shift  that  reservation  line  a  thousand  feet 
— if  reports  on  the  claim  are  correct." 

It  was  a  large  sum.  Bostwick  scratched  the  cor 
ner  of  his  mouth. 

"  That  would  be  twenty-five  thousand  apiece." 

"  No,"  corrected  McCoppet,  "  twenty  thousand 
for  me  and  thirty  for  you,  for  equal  shares.  I've 
got  to  do  the  work  underground." 

"  Perhaps  I  could  handle  what's  his  name,  Culver, 
myself,"  objected  Bostwick.  "The  fact  that  I'm 
a  stranger  here " 

"  And  what  will  you  do  if  he  refuses  ?  "  interrupted 

123 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

the  gambler.  "  Will  you  still  have  an  ace  in  your 
kahki?" 

Bostwick   stared. 

"If  he  should  refuse,  and  tell  the  owners " 

"Right.      Can  you  handle  it  then?" 

Bostwick  answered:  "  Can  you?  " 

"  It's  my  business  to  get  back  what  I've  lost — 
and  a  little  bit  more.  You  leave  it  to  me.  Keep 
away  from  Culver,  and  bring  me  thirty  thousand 
in  the  morning." 

Bostwick  was  breathing  hard.  He  maintained  a 
show  of  calm. 

"  The  morning's  a  little  bit  soon  for  me  to  turn 
around.  I'll  bring  it  when  I  can." 

McCoppet  arose.  The  interview  was  ended.  He 
added : 

"Have  a  drink?" 

"  I'll  wait,"  said  Bostwick,  "  till  we  can  drink  a 
toast  to  the  '  Laughing  Water '  claim." 

McCoppet  opened  the  door,  waved  Bostwick  into 
the  crowded  gaming  room,  and  was  about  to  follow 
when  his  roving  gaze  abruptly  lighted  on  a  figure  in 
the  place — a  swarthy,  half-breed  Piute  Indian,  stand 
ing  in  front  of  the  wheel  and  roulette  layout. 

Quickly  stepping  back  inside  the  smaller  apart 
ment,  the  gambler  pulled  down  his  hat.  His  face 
was  the  color  of  ashes. 

"  So  long.  See  you  later,"  he  murmured,  and  he 
closed  the  door  without  a  sound. 

Bostwick,  wholly  at  a  loss  to  understand  his  sudden 

124. 


Hatching  a  Plot 

dismissal,  lingered  for  a  moment  only  in  the  place, 
then  made  his  way  out  to  the  street,  and  went  to 
the  postoffice,  where  he  found  a  letter  from  Glenmore 
Kent.  Intent  upon  securing  the  needed  funds  from 
Beth  with  the  smallest  possible  delay,  he  dropped 
the  letter,  unread,  in  his  pocket  and  headed  for  the 
house  where  Beth  was  living.  He  walked,  however, 
no  more  than  half  a  block  before  he  altered  his  mind. 
Pausing  for  a  moment  on  the  sidewalk,  he  turned 
on  his  heel  and  went  briskly  to  his  own  apartments, 
where  he  performed  an  unusual  feat. 

First  he  read  the  letter  from  Kent.  It  was  dated 
from  the  newest  camp  in  the  desert  and  was  filled 
with  glittering  generalities  concerning  riches  about 
to  be  discovered.  It  urged  him,  in  case  he  had 
arrived  in  Goldite,  to  hasten  southward  forthwith — 
"  and  bring  a  bunch  of  money."  Glenmore's  letters 
always  appealed  for  money — a  fact  which  Bostwick 
had  remembered. 

The  man  sat  down  at  his  table  and  wrote  a  letter 
to  himself.  With  young  Kent's  epistle  for  his  model, 
he  made  an  amazingly  clever  forgery  of  the  en 
thusiastic  writer's  chirography,  and  at  the  bottom 
signed  the  young  man's  name. 

This  spurious  document  teemed  with  figures  and 
assertions  concerning  a  wonderful  gold  mine  which 
Glenmore  had  virtually  purchased.  He  needed  sixty 
thousand  dollars  at  once,  however,  to  complete  his 
remarkable  bargain.  Only  two  days  of  his  option 
remained  and  therefore  delay  would  be  fatal.  He 

125 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

expected  this  letter  to  find  his  friend  at  Goldite  and 
he  felt  assured  he  would  not  be  denied  this  oppor 
tunity  of  a  lifetime  to  make  a  certain  fortune.  He 
would,  of  course,  appeal  to  Beth — with  certainty  of 
her  help  from  the  wealth  bequeathed  her  by  her  uncle 
— but  naturally  she  was  too  far  away. 

Glenmore  was  unaware  of  the  fact  that  his  sister 
had  come  to  the  West.  Bostwick  overlooked  no 
details  of  importance.  Armed  with  this  plausible 
missive,  he  went  at  once  to  Mrs.  Dick's  and  found 
that  Beth  was  at  home. 


126 


CHAPTER  XVI 

INVOLVING    BETH 

GOLDITE  to  the  Eastern  girl,  who  had  found  her 
self  practically  abandoned  for  nearly  a  week,  had 
proved  to  be  a  mixture  of  discomforts,  excitements, 
and  disturbing  elements.  Fascinated  by  the  mael 
strom  of  the  mining-camp  life,  and  unwilling  to  re 
treat  from  the  scene  until  she  should  see  her  roving 
brother,  and  gratify  at  least  a  curiosity  concerning 
Van,  she  nevertheless  felt  afraid  to  be  there,  not 
only  on  account  of  the  roughness  and  uncertainty 
of  the  existence,  but  also  because,  despite  herself, 
she  had  attracted  undesirable  attention.  Moreover, 
the  house  was  full  of  "  gentlemen  "  lodgers,  with  three 
of  whom  Elsa  was  conducting  most  violent  flirtations. 

There  were  few  respectable  women  in  the  town. 
It  was  still  too  early  for  their  advent.  Beth  had 
been  annoyed  past  all  endurance.  There  was  no 
possibility  of  even  mild  social  diversions ;  there  was 
no  one  to  visit.  While  the  street  could  be  described 
as  perfectly  safe,  it  was  nevertheless  an  uncomfort 
able  place  in  which  to  walk.  Bostwick's  car  had 
been  recovered  and  brought  into  camp,  but  skilled 
as  she  was  at  the  steering  wheel,  she  had  hardly 
desired  or  dared  to  take  it  out. 

127 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

Crime  was  frequent  in  the  streets  and  houses.  Dis 
turbing  reports  of  marauding  expeditions  on  the  part 
of  the  convicts,  still  at  large,  came  with  insistent 
frequency.  Altogether  the  week  had  been  a  trial 
to  her  nerves.  It  had  also  been  a  vexation.  No 
man  had  a  right,  she  told  herself,  to  do  and  say 
the  things  that  Van  had  said  and  done,  only  to  go 
off,  without  so  much  as  a  little  good-by  and  give  no 
further  sign.  She  told  herself  she  had  a  right  to 
at  least  some  sort  of  opportunity  to  tender  her  hon 
est  congratulations.  She  had  heard  of  his  claim — 
the  "  Laughing  Water " — and  perhaps  she  wished 
to  know  how  it  chanced  to  have  this  particular  name. 
If  certain  disturbing  reflections  anent  that  woman 
who  had  run  to  him  wildly,  out  in  the  street,  came 
mistily  clouding  the  estimate  she  tried  to  place  upon 
his  character,  she  confessed  he  certainly  had  the  right 
to  make  an  explanation.  In  a  purely  feminine  man 
ner  she  argued  that  she  had  the  right  to  some  such 
explanation — if  only  because  of  certain  liberties  he 
had  taken  with  her  hands — on  which  memories  still 
warmly  burned. 

Wholly  undecided  as  to  what  she  would  do  if  she 
could,  and  impatient  with  Bostwick  for  his  sheer  neg 
lect  in  searching  out  her  brother,  she  was  thoroughly 
glad  to  see  him  to-day  when  he  came  so  unannounced 
to  the  house. 

"  Well  if  you  don't  look  like  a  mountaineer ! " 
she  said,  as  she  met  him  in  the  dining-room,  which 
was  likewise  the  parlor  of  the  place.  "  Where  in 

128 


Involving  Beth 

the  world  have  you  been,  all  this  time?  You  haven't 
come  back  without  Glen  ?  " 

He  had  gone  away  ostensibly  to  find  her  brother. 

"  Well,  the  fact  is  he  wasn't  where  I  went,  after 
all,"  he  said.  "  I  hastened  home,  after  all  that  trip, 
undertaken  for  nothing,  and  found  a  letter  from  him 
here.  I've  come  at  once  to  have  an  important  talk." 

"A  letter?"  she  cried.  "Let  me  see  it — let  me 
read  it,  please.  He's — where?  He's  well?  He's 
successful?  " 

"  Sit  down,"  answered  Bostwick,  taking  a  chair 
and  placing  his  hat  on  the  table.  "  There's  a  good 
deal  to  say.  But  first,  how  have  you  been  here,  all 
alone?" 

u  Oh — very  well — I  suppose,"  she  answered,  re 
straining  the  natural  resentment  she  felt  at  his 
patent  neglect.  "  It  isn't  exactly  the  place  I'd 
choose  to  remain  in,  alone  all  the  time." 

"  Poor  little  girl,  I've  been  thinking  of  that,"  he 
told  her,  reaching  across  the  table  to  take  her  hands. 
"  It's  worried  me,  Beth,  worried  me  greatly — your 
unprotected  position,  and  all  that." 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  worry."  She  withdrew  her 
hands.  Someway  it  seemed  a  sacrilege  for  him  to 
touch  them — it  was  not  to  be  borne — she  hardly 
knew  why,  or  since  when.  "  I  want  to  know  about 
Glen,"  she  added.  "  Never  mind  me." 

"  But  I  do  mind,"  he  assured  her.  His  hand  was 
trembling.  "Beth,  I — I  can't  talk  much — I  mean 
romantic  talk,  and  all  that,  but — well — I've  about 

129 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

concluded  we  ought  to  be  married  at  once — for  your 
sake — your  protection — and  my  peace  of  mind.  I 
have  thought  about  it  ever  since  I  left  you  here 
alone." 

The  brightness  expressive  of  the  gayety  of  her 
nature  departed  from  her  eyes.  She  looked  fixedly 
at  the  man's  dark  face,  with  its  gray,  deep-set,  pene 
trative  eyes,  its  bluish  jaw,  and  knitted  brows.  It 
frightened  her,  someway,  as  it  never  had  before. 
He  had  magnetized  her  always — sometimes  more  than 
now,  but  his  influence  crept  upon  her  subtly  even 
here. 

"  But  I— I  think  I'd  rather  not— just  yet,"  she 
faltered,  crimsoning  and  dropping  her  gaze  to  the 
table.  "  You  promised  not  to — to  urge  me  again — 
at  least  till  I've  spoken  to  Glen." 

"  But  I  could  not  have  known — forseen  these  con 
ditions,"  he  told  her,  leaning  further  towards  her 
across  the  table.  "  Why  shouldn't  we  be  married 
now — at  once?  A  six  months'  engagement  is  cer 
tainly  long  enough.  Your  position  here  is — well — 
almost  dubious.  You  must  see  that.  It  isn't  right 
of  me — decent — not  to  make  you  my  wife  immedi 
ately.  I  wish  to  do  so — I  wish  it  very  much." 

She  arose,  as  if  to  wrench  herself  free  from  the 
spell  he  was  casting  upon  her. 

"  I'm  all  right — I'm  quite  all  right,"  she  said. 
"I'd  rather  not — just  now.  There's  no  one  here 
who  cares  a  penny  who  or  what  I  am.  If  my  posi 
tion  here  is  misunderstood — it  can  do  no  harm.  I'd 

130 


Involving  Beth 

rather  you  wouldn't  say  anything  further  about  it — 
just  at  present." 

Her  agitation  did  not  escape  him.  If  he  thought 
of  the  horseman  who  had  carried  her  off  while  send 
ing  himself  to  the  convicts,  his  plan  for  vengeance 
only  deepened. 

"  You  must  have  some  reason  for  refusing."  He 
too  arose. 

"  No — no  particular  reason,"  she  answered,  art 
lessly  walking  around  the  table,  apparently  to  pick 
up  a  button  from  the  floor,  but  actually  to  avoid  his 
contact.  "  I  just  don't  wish  to — to  be  married  now 
— here — that's  all.  I  ask  you  to  keep  your  promise 
— not  to  ask  it  while  we  remain." 

He  had  feared  to  lose  her  a  score  of  times  before. 
He  feared  it  now  more  potently  than  ever.  And 
there  was  much  that  he  must  ask.  The  risk  of 
giving  her  a  fright  was  not  to  be  incurred. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said  resignedly,  "  but — it's  very 
hard  to  wait." 

"  Won't  you  sit  down?  "  she  asked  him,  an  impulse 
of  gratitude  upon  her.  "  Now  do  be  good  and 
sensible,  and  tell  me  all  about  Glen." 

She  returned  to  the  table  and  resumed  her  seat. 

Bostwick  sat  opposite  and  drew  his  forged  letter 
from  his  pocket.  He  had  placed  it  in  Glenmore's 
envelope  after  tearing  the  young  man's  letter  into 
scraps. 

"  This  letter,"  said  he,  "  was  sent  from  way  down 
in  the  desert — from  Starlight,  another  new  camp.  It 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

looks  to  me  as  if  the  boy  has  struck  something  very 
important.  I'll  read  you  what  he  says — or  you  can 
read  it  for  yourself." 

"  No,  no— read  it.      I'd  rather  listen." 

He  read  it  haltingly,  as  one  who  puzzles  over  un 
familiar  writing.  Its  effect  sank  in  the  deeper  for 
the  method.  Beth  was  open-eyed  with  wonder,  ad 
miration,  and  delight  over  all  that  Glen  had  done 
and  was  about  to  accomplish.  She  rose  to  the  bait 
with  sisterly  eagerness. 

"  Why,  he  must  have  the  chance — he's  got  to  have 
the  chance !  "  she  cried  excitedly.  "  What  do  you 
think  of  it  yourself?  " 

Bostwick  fanned  the  blaze  with  conservatism. 

"  It's  quite  a  sum  of  money  and  Glen  might  over 
estimate  the  value  of  the  mine.  I've  inquired  around 
and  learn  that  the  property  is  considered  tremen 
dously  promising.  If  we — if  he  actually  secures 

that  claim  it  will  doubtless  mean  a  for I  don't 

like  to  lose  my  sense  of  judgment,  but  I  do  want 
to  help  the  boy  along.  Frankly,  however,  I  don't 
see  how  I  can  let  him  have  so  much.  I  couldn't 
possibly  send  him  but  thirty  thousand  dollars  at  the 
most." 

Beth's  eyes  were  blazing  with  excitement.  She 
had  never  dreamed  that  Searle  could  be  so  generous 
— so  splendid.  An  impulse  of  gratitude  and  ad 
miration  surged  throughout  her  being. 

"  You'd  do  it  ?  "  she  said.  "  You'll  do  as  much 
as  that  for  Glen?" 

132 


Involving  Beth 

"  Why,  how  can  I  do  less  ?  "  he  answered.  "  That 
claim  will  doubtless  be  worth  half  a  million,  maybe 
more — if  all  I  hear  is  reliable — and  I  get  it  from 
disinterested  parties.  The  boy  has  done  a  good  big 
thing.  I've  got  to  help  him  out.  It  seems  too 
bad  to  offer  him  only  half  of  what  he  needs,  but 
I'm  not  a  very  wealthy  man.  I  can't  be  utterly 
Quixotic.  We've  all  got  to  help  him  all  we 
can." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Searle — thank  you  for  saying 
*  we,'  "  she  said  in  a  voice  that  slightly  trembled. 
"  I'm  glad  of  the  chance — glad  to  show  dear  Glen 
that  a  sister  can  help  a  little,  too." 

He  stared  at  her  with  an  excellent  imitation  of 
surprise  in  his  gaze. 

"  You'll — help?  "  he  said  in  astonishment,  master 
fully  simulated.  "  Not  with  the  other  thirty  thou 
sand?  " 

"Why  not?"  she  cried.  "Why  not,  when  Glen 
has  the  chance  of  his  life?  You  don't  really  think 
I'd  hesitate?" 

"  But,"  said  he,  leading  her  onward,  "  he  needs 
the  money  now — at  once.  You'd  have  to  get  it  here 
by  wire,  and  all  that  sort  of  trouble." 

"  Then  we'd  better  get  things  started,"  she  said. 
"  You'll  help  me,  Searle,  I'm  sure." 

"  If  you  wish  it,"  said  Bostwick,  "  certainly." 

"  Dear  Glen  !  "  she  said.  "  Dear  boy !  I'll  write 
him  a  letter  at  once." 

Bostwick  started,  alertly,  as  she  ran  in  her  girlish 

133 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

pleasure  to  a  stand  where  she  had  placed  her  ma 
terials  for  writing. 

"  Good,"  he  commented  drily,  "  I'll  mail  it  with 
one  of  my  own." 

She  dashed  off  a  bright  effusion  with  all  her  spon 
taneous  enthusiasm.  Bostwick  supplied  her  with  the 
address,  and  presently  took  the  letter  in  his  hand. 
He  had  much  to  do  at  the  bank,  he  informed  her, 
by  way  of  preparing  for  the  deal.  He  promised  to 
return  when  he  could. 

On  his  way  down  street  he  deliberately  tore  the 
letter  to  the  smallest  of  fragments  and  scattered  them 
widely  on  the  wind. 


184 


CHAPTER  XVII 

UNEXPECTED    COMPLICATIONS 

ON  the  following  morning  news  arrived  in  Goldite 
that  temporarily  dimmed  the  excitement  attendant 
upon  stories  of  the  "  Laughing  Water  "  property 
and  the  coming  stampede  to  the  Indian  reservation. 

Matt  Barger  and  three  others  of  the  convicts, 
still  uncaptured,  had  pillaged  a  freight  team,  of 
horses,  provisions,  and  arms,  murdered  a  stage  driver, 
robbed  the  express  of  a  large  consignment  of  gold, 
and  escaped  as  before  to  the  mountains. 

Two  separate  posses  were  in  pursuit.  Rewards 
aggregating  ten  thousand  dollars  were  offered  for 
Barger,  dead  or  alive,  with  smaller  sums  for  each 
of  his  companions.  Their  latest  depredations  had 
occurred  alarmingly  close  to  the  mining  camp,  from 
which  travel  was  becoming  hazardous. 

The  gold  theft  was  particularly  disquieting  to 
the  Goldite  mining  contingent.  Dangers  beset  their 
enterprises  in  many  directions  at  the  very  best.  To 
have  this  menace  added,  together  with  worry  over 
every  man's  personal  safety  in  traveling  about,  was 
fairly  intolerable.  The  inefficient  posses  were  roundly 
berated,  but  no  man  volunteered  to  issue  forth  and 
"  get  "  Matt  Barger — either  alive  or  as  a  corpse. 

135 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

The  man  who  arrived  with  the  news  was  one  of 
Van's  cronies,  Dave,  the  little  station  man  whom 
Beth  had  met  the  morning  of  her  coming.  He  was 
here  in  response  to  a  summons  from  Van,  who  thought 
he  saw  an  opportunity  to  assist  his  friend  to  better 
things.  Everything  Dave  owned  he  had  fetched 
across  the  desert,  including  both  the  horses  that 
Beth  and  Elsa  once  had  ridden.  The  station  itself 
he  had  sold.  He  had  launched  forth  absolutely  on 
Van's  new  promises,  burning  all  his  bridges,  as  it 
were,  behind  him. 

Van  came  down  to  meet  him.  He  had  other  con 
cerns  in  Goldite,  some  with  Culver,  the  Government 
representative,  and  others  a  trifle  more  personal, 
and  intended  to  combine  them  all  in  one  excursion. 

No  sooner  had  he  appeared  on  the  street,  after 
duly  stabling  "  Suvy  "  at  the  hay-yard,  than  a  hun 
dred  acquaintances,  suddenly  transformed  into  inti 
mate  friends,  by  the  change  in  his  fortunes,  pounced 
upon  him  in  a  spirit  of  generosity,  hilarity,  and  com- 
araderie  that  cloyed  not  only  his  senses,  but  even  his 
movements  in  the  camp. 

He  was  dragged  and  carried  into  four  saloons 
like  a  helpless,  good-natured  bear  cub,  strong  enough 
to  resist  by  inflicting  injuries,  but  somewhat  amused 
by  the  game.  Intelligence  of  his  advent  went  the 
rounds.  The  local  editor  and  the  girl  he  had  ad 
dressed  as  "  Queenie,"  on  the  day  of  the  fight  in  the 
street,  were  rivals  in  another  joyous  attack  as  he 
escaped  at  last  to  proceed  about  his  own  affairs. 

136 


Unexpected  Complications 

The  editor  stood  no  chance  whatsoever.  Van  had 
nothing  to  say,  and  said  so.  Moreover,  Queenie 
was  a  very  persistent,  as  well  as  a  very  pretty,  young 
person,  distressingly  careless  of  deportment.  She 
clung  to  Van  like  a  bur. 

"  Gee,  Van ! "  she  cried  with  genuine  tears  in  her 
eyes,  "didn't  I  always  say  you  was  the  candy? 
Didn't  I  always  say  I'd  give  you  my  head  and  breathe 
through  my  feet — day  or  night?  Didn't  I  tell  'em 
all  you  was  the  only  one  ?  You're  the  only  diamonds 
there  is  for  me — and  I  didn't  never  wait  for  you  to 
strike  it  first." 

"  No,  you  didn't  even  wait  for  an  invitation," 
answered  Van  with  a  smile.  "  Everybody's  got  to 
hike  now.  I'm  busy,  trying  to  breathe." 

She  clung  on.  Unfortunately,  down  in  an  Ari 
zona  town,  Van  had  trounced  a  ruffian  once  in 
Queenie's  protection — simply  because  of  her  gender 
and  entirely  without  reference  to  her  character  or 
her  future  attitude  towards  himself.  In  her  way 
she  personified  a  sort  of  adoration  and  gratitude, 
which  could  neither  be  slain  nor  escaped  by  anything 
that  he  or  anyone  else  could  do.  Her  devotion, 
however,  had  palled  upon  him  early,  perhaps  more 
because  of  its  habit  of  increasing.  It  had  recently 
become  a  pest. 

"  Busy  ?  "  she  echoed.  "  You  said  that  before. 
When  ain't  you  going  to  be  busy?  " 

"  When  I'm  dead,"  he  answered,  and  wrenching 
loose  he  dived  inside  a  hardware  store,  to  purchase 

137 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

a  hunting  knife  for  Gettysburg,  then  went  at  once 
to  a  barber  shop  and  shut  out  the  torment  of  friends. 

He  escaped  at  the  rear,  when  his  face  had  been 
groomed,  and  made  his  way  unseen  to  Mrs.  Dick's. 

Beth  was  not  at  home.  She  and  Bostwick  were 
together  at  the  office  of  the  telegraph  company, 
where  Searle  was  assisting  her,  as  she  thought  to 
aid  her  brother,  to  such  excellent  purpose  that  her 
thirty  thousand  dollars  bid  fair  to  repose  in  the 
bank  at  his  call  before  the  business  day  should  reach 
its  end. 

Mrs.  Dick  seemed  to  Van  the  one  and  only  person 
in  the  camp  unaffected  by  the  news  of  his  luck.  She 
treated  him  precisely  as  she  always  had  and  doubtless 
always  should.  Therefore,  he  had  no  difficulty  in 
getting  away  to  Culver  at  his  office. 

The  official  surveyor  was  a  fat-cheeked,  handsome 
man,  with  a  silky  brown  beard,  an  effeminate  voice, 
and  prodigious  self-conceit.  He  was  pacing  up  and 
down  the  inside  office,  at  the  rear  of  the  rough  board 
building,  when  Van  came  in  and  found  him.  The 
horseman's  business  was  one  of  maps  and  land-office 
data  made  essential  to  his  needs  by  the  new  recording 
of  the  "  Laughing  Water  "  property  as  a  placer  in 
stead  of  a  quartz  claim.  He  had  drawn  a  crude 
outline  of  his  holdings  and  in  taking  it  forth  from 
his  pocket  found  the  knife  bought  for  Gettysburg 
in  the  way.  He  removed  the  weapon  and  placed  it 
on  the  table  near  at  hand. 

"  There's  so  much  of  this  desert  unsurveyed,"  he 

138 


Unexpected  Complications 

said,  "  that  no  man  can  tell  whether  he's  just  inside 
or  just  outside  of  Purgatory." 

"So  you  come  to  me  to  find  out?"  Culver  de 
manded  somewhat  shortly.  "  Do  you  tin-horn  min 
ers  think  that's  all  this  office  is  for?  " 

"  Well,  in  my  instance,  I  had  to  come  to  some  wiser 
spirit  than  myself  to  get  my  bearings,"  answered 
Van  drawlingly.  "  You  can  see  that." 

"  There  are  the  maps."  Culver  waved  his  hand 
towards  a  drawer  in  the  office  table,  and  moved  im 
patiently  over  to  a  window,  the  view  from  which 
commanded  a  section  of  the  street,  including  the 
bank. 

Van  was  presently  engrossed  in  a  search  for  quar 
ter  sections,  ranges,  and  townships. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Culver,  turning  upon  him  ag 
gressively,  "  what's  this  racket  I  hear  about  you 
taking  the  inside  track  with  that  stunning  new  petti 
coat  in  town  ?  " 

Van  looked  up  without  the  least  suspicion  of  the 
man's  real  meaning. 

"  If  you  are  referring  to  that  reckless  young 
woman  called  Queenie " 

"  Oh,  Queenie — rats  !  "  interrupted  Culver  irri 
tably.  "  You  know  who  I  mean.  I  guess  you  call 
her  Beth." 

Van's  face  took  on  a  look  of  hardness  as  if  it 
were  chiseled  in  stone.  He  had  squared  around  as 
if  at  a  blow.  For  a  moment  he  faced  the  surveyor 
in  silence. 

139 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"  You  are  making  some  grave  mistake,"  he  said 
presently  in  ominous  calm.  "  Please  don't  make 
such  an  allusion  as  that  again." 

"  So,  the  shot  went  home,"  Culver  laughed 
unctuously,  turning  for  a  moment  from  the  window. 
"  I  thought  it  would.  You  know  you  couldn't  ex 
pect  to  keep  anything  like  that  all  to  yourself,  Van 
Buren.  You're  not  the  only  ladies'  man  on  the 

beach.  And  as  for  this  clod  of  a  Bostwick " 

He  had  turned  to  look  out  as  before,  and  grew  sud 
denly  excited.  Beth  was  in  view  at  the  bank.  "  By 
the  gods ! "  he  exclaimed  with  a  sudden  change  of 
tone,  "  she  is  the  handsomest  bit  of  confectionery  on 
earth.  If  I  don't  win  her " 

His  utterance  promptly  ceased,  together  with  his 
abominable  activities  and  primping  in  the  window. 
Van,  who  did  not  know  that  this  creature  had  been 
Beth's  particular  annoyance,  had  crossed  the  room 
without  a  sound  and  laid  his  grip  on  Culver's  collar. 

"  You  cur !  "  he  said  quietly,  and  choking  the  man 
he  flung  him  down  against  the  floor  and  wall  as  if 
he  had  been  the  merest  puppet. 

Someone  had  entered  the  outside  door.  Neither 
Culver  nor  Van  heard  the  sound.  Culver  rolled  over, 
scrambled  to  his  feet,  and  with  his  face  and  neck 
engorged  with  rage,  came  rushing  at  the  horseman 
like  a  fury. 

"  You  blackguard ! "  he  screamed,  "  I'll  tear  out 
your  heart  for  that !  I'll  kill  you  like " 

"Shut   up!"   Van    commanded   quietly,   stopping 

140 


Unexpected  Complications 

the  onrush  of  his  angered  foe  by  putting  his  hand 
against  the  surveyor's  face  and  sending  him  reeling 
as  before.  "  Don't  tell  me  what  you'll  do  to  me — 
or  to  anyone  else  in  this  camp !  And  if  ever  I  hear 
of  you  opening  your  mouth  again  as  you  did  here 
a  moment  ago,  I'll  tie  a  knot  so  hard  in  your  carcass 
you'll  have  to  be  buried  in  a  hat  box!" 

He  glanced  towards  the  doorway.  A  stranger 
stood  on  the  threshold.  Bowing,  Van  passed  him 
and  left  the  place,  too  angered  to  think  either  of  the 
maps  or  of  his  knife. 

Culver,  raging  like  a  maniac,  bowled  headlong  into 
the  visitor,  in  his  effort  to  overtake  the  horseman, 
but  found  himself  baffled  and  took  out  his  wrath  in 
foul  vituperation  that  presently  drove  the  stranger 
from  the  place. 


141 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

WHEREIN    MATTERS    THICKEN 

THE  stranger  who  had  witnessed  the  trouble  at 
Culver's  office  had  come  there  at  the  instance  of 
McCoppet.  It  was,  therefore,  to  McCoppet  that 
he  carried  the  intelligence  of  what  had  taken  place, 
so  far  as  he  had  seen. 

The  gambler  was  exceedingly  pleased.  That  Cul 
ver  would  now  be  ready,  as  never  before,  to  receive 
a  proposition  whereby  the  owners  of  the  "  Laughing 
Water  "  claim  could  be  deprived  of  their  ground,  he 
was  well  convinced. 

For  reasons  best  known  to  himself  and  skillfully 
concealed  from  all  acquaintances,  McCoppet  had  re 
mained  practically  in  hiding  since  the  moment  in 
which  he  had  beheld  that  half-breed  Piute  Indian  in 
the  saloon.  He  remained  out  of  sight  even  now, 
dispatching  a  messenger  to  Culver,  in  the  afternoon, 
requesting  his  presence  for  a  conference  for  the  total 
undoing  of  Van  Buren. 

Culver,  who  in  ordinary  circumstances  might  have 
refused  this  request  with  haughty  insolence,  re 
sponded  to  the  summons  rather  sooner  than  Mc 
Coppet  had  expected.  He  was  still  red  with  anger, 

142 


Wherein  Matters  Thicken 

and  meditating  personal  violence  to  Van  at  the  ear 
liest  possible  meeting. 

McCoppet,  with  his  smokeless  cigar  in  his  mouth, 
and  his  great  opal  sentient  with  fire,  received  his 
visitor  in  the  little  private  den  to  which  Bostwick 
had  been  taken. 

"  How  are  you,  Culver  ?  "  he  said  off-handedly . 
"  I  wanted  to  have  a  little  talk.  I  sent  a  man  up 
to  your  shop  a  while  ago,  and  he  told  me  you  fired 
Van  Buren  out  of  the  place  on  the  run." 

"  That's  nobody's  business  but  mine,"  said  Culver 
aggressively.  "  If  that  is  all  you  care  to  talk 
about " 

"  Don't  roil  up,"  interrupted  the  gambler.  "  I 
don't  even  know  what  the  fight  was  about,  and  I 
don't  care  a  tinker's  whoop  either.  I  got  you  here 
to  give  you  a  chance  to  put  Van  Buren  out  of  com 
mission  and  make  a  lifetime  winning." 

Culver  looked  at  him  sharply. 

"It  must  be  something  crooked." 

"  Nothing's  crooked  that  works  out  straight,"  said 
McCoppet.  "  What's  life  anyhow  but  a  sure-thing 
game?  It's  stacked  for  us  all  to  lose  out  in  the 
end.  What's  the  use  of  being  finniky  while  we 
live — as  long  as  even  the  Almighty's  dealing 
brace?  " 

Culver  was  impatient.      "Well?" 

"  I  won't  beat  around  the  chapparal,"  said  Mc 
Coppet.  "  It  ain't  my  way."  Nevertheless,  with 
much  finesse  and  art  he  contrived  to  put  his  proposi- 

143 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

tion  in  a  manner  to  rob  it  of  many  of  its  ugly 
features.  However,  he  made  the  business  plain. 

"  You  see,"  he  concluded,  "  the  old  reservation  line 
might  actually  be  wrong — and  all  you'd  have  to  do 
would  be  to  put  it  right.  That's  what  we  want — 
we  want  the  line  put  right." 

Culver  was  more  angered  than  before.  He  under 
stood  the  conspiracy  thoroughly.  No  detail  of  its 
cleverness  escaped  him. 

"  If  you  thought  you  could  trade  on  my  personal 
unpleasantness  with  an  owner  of  the  '  Laughing 
Water '  claim,"  he  said  hotly,  "  you  have  made  the 
mistake  of  your  life.  I  wish  you  good-day." 

He  rose  to  go.      McCoppet  rose  and  stopped  him. 

"Don't  get  feverish,"  said  he.  "It  don't  pay. 
I  ain't  requesting  this  service  from  you  for  just 
your  feelings  against  a  man.  There's  plenty  in  this 
for  us  all." 

"  You  mean  bribe  money,  I  suppose,"  said  Culver 
no  less  aggressively  than  before.  "Is  that  what 
you  mean  ?  " 

"  Don't  call  it  hard  names,"  begged  the  gambler. 
"  It's  just  a  retainer — say  twenty  thousand  dollars." 

Culver  burned  to  the  top  of  his  ears.  He  looked 
at  McCoppet  intently  with  an  expression  the  gam 
bler  could  not  interpret. 

"  Just  to  change  that  line  a  thousand  feet,"  urged 
the  man  of  gambling  propensities.  "  I'll  make  it 
twenty-five." 

Still  Culver  made  no  response.     With  all  his  other 

144 


Wherein  Matters  Thicken 

hateful  attributes  of  character  he  was  tempered  steel 
on  incorruptibility.  He  was  not  even  momentarily 
tempted  to  avenge  himself  thus  on  Van  Buren. 

McCoppet  thought  he  had  him  wavering.  He 
attempted  to  push  him  over  the  brink. 

"  Say,"  said  he  persuasively,  lowering  his  voice 
to  a  tone  of  the  confidential,  "  I  can  strain  a  little 
more  out  of  one  of  my  partners  and  make  it  thirty 
thousand  dollars."  He  had  no  intention  of  employ 
ing  a  cent  of  his  own.  Bostwick  was  to  pay  all 
these  expenses.  "  Thirty  thousand  dollars,  cash,"  he 
repeated,  "  the  minute  you  finish  your  work — and 
make  it  look  like  a  Government  correction  of  the  line." 

Culver  broke  forth  on  him  with  accumulated  wrath. 

"  You  damnable  puppy !  "  he  said  in  a  futile  effort 
to  be  adequate  to  the  situation.  "  You  sneak !  Of 
all  the  accursed  intrigues — insults — robberies  that 

ever  were  hatched By  God,  sir,  if  you  offered 

me  a  million  of  money  you  shouldn't  alter  that  Gov 
ernment  line  by  a  hair !  If  you  speak  to  me  again 
— I'll  knock  you  down !  " 

He  flung  the  door  wide  open,  went  out  like  a 
rocket,  and  bowled  a  man  half  over  in  his  blind  haste 
to  be  quit  the  place. 

McCoppet  was  left  there  staring  where  he  had 
gone — staring  and  afraid  of  what  the  results  would 
probably  be  to  all  the  game.  He  had  no  eyes  to 
behold  a  man  who  had  suddenly  discerned  him  from 
the  crowds.  A  moment  later  he  started  violently 
as  a  huge  form  stood  in  the  door. 

145 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"  Trimmer !  "  he  said,  "  I'm  busy  !  " 

"  You're  goin'  to  be  busier  in  about  a  minute,  if 
I  don't  see  you  right  now,"  said  the  man  addressed 
as  Trimmer,  a  raw,  bull-like  lumberman  from  the 
mountains.  "  Been  waitin'  to  see  you  some  time." 

"  Come  in,"  said  the  gambler  instantly  regaining 
his  composure.  "  Come  in  and  shut  the  door.  How 
are  you,  anyway  ?  "  He  held  out  his  hand  to  shake. 

Trimmer  closed  the  door.  "  Ain't  ready  to  shake, 
jest  yet,"  he  said.  "  I  come  here  to  see  you  on  busi 
ness." 

"  That's  all  right,  Larry,"  answered  McCoppet. 
"  That's  all  right.  Sit  down." 

"  I'm  goin'  to,"  announced  his  visitor.  He  took 
a  chair,  pulled  out  a  giant  cigar,  and  lighting  it  up 
smoked  like  a  pile  of  burning  leaves.  "  You  seem 
to  be  pretty  well  fixed,"  he  added,  taking  a  huge  black 
pistol  from  his  pocket  and  laying  it  before  him  on 
the  table.  "  Looks  like  money  was  easy." 

"  I  ain't  busted,"  admitted  the  gambler.  "  Have 
a  drink?  " 

"  Not  till  we  finish."  The  lumberman  settled  in 
his  chair.  "  That  was  the  way  you  got  me  before — 
and  you  ain't  goin'  to  come  it  again." 

McCoppet  waited  for  his  visitor  to  open.  Trim 
mer  was  not  in  a  hurry.  He  eyed  the  man  across 
the  table  calmly,  his  small,  shifting  optics  dully 
gleaming. 

Presently  he  said :  "  Cayuse  is  here  in  camp." 

Cayuse   was    the   half-breed   Piute   Indian   whose 

146 


Wherein  Matters  Thicken 

company  McCoppet  had  avoided.  Partially  edu 
cated,  wholly  reverted  to  his  Indian  ways  and  tribal 
brethren,  Cayuse  was  a  singular  mixture  of  the  sav 
age,  plus  civilized  outlooks  and  ethical  standards 
that  made  him  a  dangerous  man — not  only  a  law 
unto  himself,  as  many  Indians  are,  but  also  a 
strange  interpreter  of  the  law,  both  civilized  and 
aboriginal. 

McCoppet  had  surmised  what  was  coming. 

"  Yes — I  noticed  he  was  here." 

"  Know  what  he  come  fer?"  asked  the  lumberman. 
"Onto  his  game?" 

"  You  came  here  to  tell  me.      Deal  the  cards." 

Trimmer  puffed  great  lungfuls  of  the  reek  from 
his  weed  and  took  his  revolver  in  hand. 

"  Opal,"  said  he,  enjoying  his  moment  of  vantage, 
"  you  done  me  up  for  a  clean  one  thousand  bucks,  a 
year  ago — while  I  was  drunk — and  I've  been  laying 
to  git  you  ever  since." 

McCoppet  was  unmoved. 

"  Well,  here  I  am." 

"  You  bet !  here  you  are — and  here  you're  goin' 
to  hang  out  till  we  fix  things  right  !  "  The  lumber 
man  banged  his  gun  barrel  on  the  table  hard  enough 
to  make  a  dent.  "  That's  why  Cayuse  is  here,  too. 
Mrs.  Cayuse  is  dead." 

The  gambler  nodded  coldly,  and  Trimmer  went  on. 

"  She  kicked  the  bucket  havin'  a  kid  which  wasn't 
Cayuse's — too  darn  white  fer  even  him — and  Cayuse 
is  on  the  war  trail  fer  that  father." 

147 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

McCoppet  threw  away  his  chewed  cigar  and  re 
placed  it  with  a  fresh  one.  He  nodded  as  before. 

"  Cajuse  is  on  that  I  know  who  the  father  was," 
resumed  the  visitor.  "  I  told  him  to  come  here  to 
Goldite  and  I'd  give  up  the  name." 

He  began  to  consume  his  cigar  once  more  by  inches 
and  watched  the  effect  of  his  words.  There  was  no 
visible  effect.  McCoppet  had  never  been  calmer  in 
his  life — outwardly.  Inwardly  he  had  never  felt 
nearer  to  death,  and  his  own  kind  of  fright  was  upon 
him. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  your  aces  look  good  to  me. 
What  do  you  want — how  much?  " 

"  I  ought  to  hand  you  over  to  Cayuse — good  rid 
dance  to  the  whole  country,"  answered  Trimmer,  with 
rare  perspicacity  of  judgment.  "  You  bet  you're 
goin'  to  pay." 

"  If  you  want  your  thousand  back,  why  don't  you 
say  so?  "  inquired  the  gambler  quietly.  "  I'll  make 
it  fifteen  hundred.  That's  pretty  good  interest,  I 
reckon." 

"  Your  reckoner's  run  down,"  Trimmer  assured 
him.  "  I  want  ten  thousand  dollars  to  steer  Cayuse 
away." 

McCoppet  slowly  shook  his  head.  "  You  ain't  a 
hog,  Larry,  you're  a  Rockyfeller.  Five  thousand, 
cash  on  the  nail,  if  you  show  me  you  can  steer  Cayuse 
so  far  off  the  trail  he'll  never  get  on  it  again." 

Five  thousand  dollars  was  a  great  deal  of  money 
to  Trimmer.  Ten  thousand  was  far  in  excess  of  his 

148 


Wherein  Matters  Thicken 

real  expectations.  But  he  saw  that  his  power  was 
large.  He  was  brutally  frank. 

"  Nope,  can't  do  it,  Opal,  not  even  fer  a  friend," 
and  he  grinned.  "  I've  got  you  in  the  door  and  I'm 
goin'  to  jamb  you  hard.  Five  thousand  ain't  enough." 

Things  had  been  going  against  the  gambler  for 
nearly  an  hour.  He  had  been  acutely  alarmed  by 
the  presence  of  Cayuse  in  the  camp.  His  mind,  like 
a  ferret  in  a  trap,  was  seeking  wildly  for  a  loophole 
of  advantage.  Light  came  in  upon  him  suddenly, 
with  a  thought  of  Culver,  by  whom,  subconsciously, 
he  was  worried. 

"  How  do  you  mean  to  handle  the  half-breed?  "  he 
inquired  by  way  of  preparing  his  ground.  •  "  You've 
promised  to  cough  up  a  name." 

Trimmer  scratched  his  head  with  the  end  of  his 
pistol. 

"  I  guess  I  could  tell  him  I  was  off — don't  know 
the  father  after  all." 

"  Sounds  like  a  kid's  excuse,"  commented  McCop- 
pet.  "Like  as  not  he'd  take  it  out  of  you." 

The  likelihood  was  so  strong  that  Trimmer  visibly 
paled. 

"  I've  got  to  give  him  somebody's  name,"  he  agreed 
with  alacrity.  "  Has  anyone  died  around  here 
recent?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  McCoppet  with  ready  mendacity, 
"  Culver,  who  used  to  do  surveying." 

"  Who?  "  asked  Trimmer.      "  Don't  know  him." 

McCoppet  leaned  across  the  table. 

149 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"  Yes  you  do.  He  stopped  you  once  from  stealing 
— from  picking  up  a  lot  of  timber  land.  Remem 
ber?" 

Trimmer  was  interested.  His  vindictive  attributes 
were  aroused. 

"  Was  that  the  cuss  ?  I  never  seen  him.  Do  you 
think  Cayuse  would  know  who  he  wasp — and  believe 
it — the  yarn  ?  " 

"  Cayuse  was  once  his  chain-man."  McCoppet 
was  tremendously  excited,  though  apparently  as 
cold  as  ice,  as  he  swiftly  thought  out  the  niceties 
of  his  own  and  fate's  arrangements.  u  Cayuse's  wife 
once  worked  for  Mrs.  Culver,  cooking  and  washing." 

"  Say,  anybody'd  swaller  that,"  reflected  the  lum 
berman  aloud.  "  But  five  thousand  dollars  ain't 
enough." 

"  I'll  make  it  seven  thousand  five  hundred — that's 
an  even  split,"  agreed  the  gambler.  He  thought  he 
foresaw  a  means  whereby  he  could  save  this  amount 
from  the  funds  that  Bostwick  would  furnish.  He 
rose  from  his  seat.  "  A  thousand  down,  right  now — 
the  balance  when  Cayuse  is  gone,  leaving  me  safe 
forever.  You  to  give  him  the  name  right  now." 

Trimmer  stood  up,  quenched  the  light  on  the  stub 
of  his  cigar,  and  chewed  up  the  butt  with  evident 
enjoyment. 

"  All  right,"  he  answered.      "  Shake." 

Ten  minutes  later  he  had  found  Cayuse,  delivered 
up  the  name  agreed  upon,  and  was  busy  spending 
his  money  acquiring  a  load  of  fiery  drink. 

150 


CHAPTER  XIX 

VAN  AND  BETH  AND   BOSTWICK 

VAN  was  far  too  occupied  to  retain  for  long  the 
anger  that  Culver  had  aroused  in  all  his  being. 
Moreover,  he  had  come  to  camp  in  a  mood  of  joyous- 
ness,  youth,  and  bounding  emotions  such  as  nothing 
could  submerge.  The  incident  with  Culver  was 
closed.  As  for  land-office  data,  it  was  far  from 
being  indispensable,  and  Gettysburg's  knife  was  for 
gotten. 

He  had  fetched  down  a  nugget  from  the  "  Laugh 
ing  Water "  claim,  a  bright  lump  of  virgin  gold, 
rudely  fashioned  by  nature  like  a  heart.  This  he 
took  at  once  to  a  jeweler's  shop,  where  more  fine 
diamonds  were  being  sold  than  in  all  the  rest  of  the 
State,  and  while  it  was  being  soldered  to  a  pin  he 
returned  to  the  hay-yard  for  Dave.  His  business 
was  to  purchase  the  mare  on  which,  one  beautiful 
morning  when  the  wild  peach  was  in  bloom,  Beth 
Kent  had  ridden  by  his  side.  Dave  would  have  given 
him  the  animal  out  of  hand.  Van  compelled  him  to 
receive  a  market  price.  Even  ponies  here  were  valu 
able,  and  Dave  had  been  poor  all  his  life. 

"  Say,  Van,"  he  drawled,  when  at  length  the  trans 
action  was  complete,  "  this  camp  has  set  me  to 

151 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

thinkin'.  It's  full  of  these  rich  galoots,  all  havin' 
an  easy  time.  If  ever  I  git  a  wad  of  dough  I'm 
comin'  here  and  buy  five  dollars  worth  of  good  sar 
dines  and  eat  'em  every  one.  Never  have  had  enough 
sardines  in  all  my  life." 

"I'd  buy  them  for  you  now  and  sit  you  down," 
said  Van,  "  only  why  start  a  graveyard  with  a 
friend?  " 

Some  woman  who  had  come  and  gone  from  Goldite 
had  disposed  of  a  beautiful  side  saddle,  exposed  in 
the  hay-yard  to  the  weather.  Van  paid  fifty  dollars 
and  became  its  owner.  The  outfit  for  Beth  was  soon 
complete.  He  ordered  the  best  of  feed  and  atten 
tion  for  her  roan — bills  to  be  rendered  to  himself — 
and  hastening  off  to  the  jeweler's,  found  his  pin 
ready  and  reposing  in  a  small  blue  box.  Avoiding 
a  number  of  admiring  friends,  he  slipped  around  a 
corner,  and  once  more  appeared  at  Mrs.  Dick's. 

Beth  was  in  the  dining-room,  alone.  Her  papers 
were  spread  upon  the  table.  She  was  flushed  with 
the  day's  excitements. 

Van  had  entered  unannounced.  His  active  tread 
upon  the  carpet  of  the  hall  had  made  no  sound. 
When  he  halted  in  the  doorway,  transfixed  by  the 
beauty  of  the  face  he  saw  reflected  in  the  sideboard 
mirror  opposite,  Beth  was  unconscious  of  his  pres 
ence. 

She  was  busily  gathering  up  her  documents.  Her 
pretty  hands  were  moving  lightly  on  the  table.  Her 
eyes  were  downcast,  focused  where  she  worked.  Only 

152 


Van  and  Beth  and  Bostwick 

the  wondrous  addition  of  their  matchless  brown, 
thought  Van,  was  necessary  to  complete  a  picture  of 
the  most  exquisite  loveliness  he  had  ever  beheld. 

He  had  come  there  prepared  to  be  sedate — at  least 
not  over-bold  again,  or  too  presumptuous.  Already, 
however,  a  riot  of  love  was  in  his  veins.  He  loved 
as  he  fought — with  all  his  strength,  with  a  tidal 
impetuosity  that  could  scarcely  understand  resist 
ance  or  imagine  defeat.  To  restrain  himself  from 
a  quick  descent  upon  her  position  and  a  boyish  sweep 
ing  of  her  up  in  his  powerful  arms  was  taxing  the 
utmost  of  his  self-control.  Then  Beth  glanced  up 
at  the  mirror. 

The  light  of  her  eyes  seemed  to  liquify  his  heart. 
He  felt  that  mad,  joyous  organ  spread  abruptly 
throughout  his  entire  being. 

She  rose  up  suddenly  and  turned  to  greet  him. 

"  Why — Mr.  Van ! "  she  stammered,  flushing 
rosily.  "  I  heard  you  were  in  town." 

He  came  towards  her  quietly  enough,  the  jeweler's 
box  in  his  hand. 

"  I  called  before,"  he  answered  in  his  off-hand  way. 
"  You  must  have  been  out  with  poor  old  Searle." 

"Oh,"  she  said,  "poor  old  Searle?  Why- 
poor?  " 

"I  told  you  why  before,"  he  said  boldly,  in  spite 
of  himself.  He  was  standing  before  her  by  the 
table,  looking  fairly  into  her  eyes,  with  that  dancing 
boyishness  amazingly  bright  in  his  own.  "  You 
remember,  too — you  can't  forget." 

153 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

The  flush  in  her  cheeks  increased.  Her  glance 
was  lowered. 

"  You  didn't  give  me  time  to — rebuke  you  for 
that,"  she  answered,  attempting  to  assume  a  tone 
of  severity.  "  You  had  no  right — it  wasn't  nice  or 
like  you  in  the  least." 

"  Yes  it  was,  nice,  and  like  me,"  he  corrected. 
"  I've  brought  you  a  nugget  from  the  claim."  He 
opened  the  box  and  shook  out  the  pin  on  the 
table. 

She  had  started  to  make  a  reply  concerning  his 
actions  when  leaving  on  that  former  occasion.  The 
words  were  pushed  aside. 

66  Oh,  my !  "  she  said  in  a  little  exclamation,  instead. 
"A  nugget! — gold! — not  from  the — not  from  your 
claim?" 

His  hand  slightly  trembled. 

"  From  the  '  Laughing  Water '  claim.  Named 
for  the  girl  I'm  going  to  marry." 

She  gasped,  almost  audibly.  The  things  he  said 
were  so  wholly  unexpected — so  almost  naked  in  their 
bluntness. 

"The  girl — some  girl  you — Isn't  it  beautiful?" 
she  faltered  helplessly.  "  Of  course  I  don't  know 
— how  any  girl  could  have  such  a  singular  name." 

"  Yes  you  do,"  he  corrected  in  his  shockingly  can 
did  way.  "  You  know  when  Dave  gave  her  the 
name." 

"  Do  I  ?  "  she  asked  weakly,  trying  to  smile,  and 
feeling  some  wonderful,  welcome  sort  of  fear  of  the 

154 


Fan  and  Beth  and  Bostwick 

passion  with  which  he  fairly  glowed.  "  You  are — 
very  positive." 

He  moved  a  trifle  closer,  touching  the  pin  with  a 
finger,  as  she  held  it  in  her  hand.  His  voice  slightly 
shook  as  he  asked: 

"Do  you  like  it?" 

"  The  pin  ?  Of  course.  A  genuine  nugget !  You 
were  very  kind,  I'm  sure." 

"  I  thought  when  you  and  I  ride  over  to  the 
claim,  some  day,  you  ought  to  have  a  horse  of  your 
own,"  he  announced  in  his  manner  of  finality.  "  So 
your  horse  and  outfit  are  over  at  Charlie's,  at  your 
order." 

She  looked  up  at  him  swiftly.  "  My  horse — over 
at  Charlie's?" 

"  Yes,  Charlie's — the  hay-yard.  I  thought  you 
liked  a  side-saddle  best  and  I  found  a  good  one  in 
the  hay." 

"  But — I  haven't  any  horse,"  she  protested,  fail 
ing  for  a  moment  to  grasp  his  meaning.  "  How 
could  I  have  a  horse  in  Goldite?  " 

"  You  couldn't  help  having  him — that's  all — any 
more  than  you  can  help  having  me." 

The  light  in  his  eyes  was  far  too  magnetic 
for  her  own  brown  glance  to  escape.  She  hardly 
knew  what  she  was  saying,  or  what  she  was  thinking. 
She  was  simply  aflame  with  happiness  in  his  presence 
— and  she  feared  he  must  read  it  in  her  glance.  That 
the  horse  was  his  gift  she  comprehended  all  at  once 
• — but — what  had  he  said — what  was  it  he  had  said, 

155 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

that  she  must  answer?  Her  heart  and  her  mind 
had  coalesced.  There  was  love  in  both  and  little  of 
reason  in  either.  She  knew  he  was  holding  her  eyes 
to  his  with  the  sheer  force  of  overwhelming  love. 
She  tried  to  escape. 

"  You— mean " 

He  broke  all  control  like  a  whirlwind. 

"  I  mean  I  can't  hold  it  any  longer !  I  love  you ! 
— I  love  you  to  death !  " 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  suddenly,  passionately, 
crushing  her  almost  fiercely  against  his  heart.  He 
kissed  her  on  the  lips — once — twice — a  dozen  times 
in  half  a  minute — feeling  the  warm,  moist  softness 
in  the  contact  and  holding  her  pliant  figure  yet  more 
closely. 

She,  too,  was  mad  with  it  all,  for  a  second.  Then 
she  began  to  battle  with  his  might. 

"  Van  ! — Mr.  Van !  "  she  said,  pushing  his  face 
away  with  a  hand  he  might  have  devoured.  "  Let 

me  go!  Let  me  go!  How  dare You  shan't! 

You  shan't !  Let  me  go !  " 

Her  nature,  in  revolt  for  a  moment  against  her 
better  judgment,  refused  to  do  the  bidding  of  her 
muscles.  Then  she  gathered  strength  out  of  the 
whirlwind  itself  and  pushed  him  away  like  a  tigress. 

"You  shan't!"  she  repeated.  "You  ought  to 
be  ashamed !  How  dare  you  treat  me " 

He  had  turned  abruptly,  looking  towards  the  door. 
Her  utterance  was  halted  by  his  movement  of  listen 
ing.  She  had  barely  time  to  take  up  her  papers, 

156 


Van  and  Beth  and  Bostwick 

and  make  an  effort  at  regaining  her  composure. 
Bostwick  was  coming  down  the  hall.  He  presently 
appeared  at  the  door.  For  a  moment  there  was 
silence. 

Van  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"How  are  you,  Searle?  "  he  said  cheerily.  "Got 
over  your  grouch?  " 

Bostwick  looked  him  over  with  ill-concealed  loath 
ing. 

"  You  thought  you  were  clever,  I  suppose,"  he 
said  in  a  growl-like  tone  that  certainly  fitted  his 
face.  "  What  are  you  doing  here,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  " 

"Tottering  angels!"  said  Van,  "didn't  that  ex 
perience  do  you  any  good  after  all?  No  wonder  the 
convicts  wouldn't  have  you ! " 

Beth  was  afraid  for  what  Bostwick  might  have 
heard.  She  could  not  censure  Van  for  what  he  had 
done;  she  saw  he  would  make  no  explanations.  At 
best  she  could  only  attempt  to  put  some  appearance 
of  the  commonplace  upon  the  horseman's  visit. 

"  Mr.  Van  Buren  came — to  see  Mrs.  Dick,"  she 
faltered,  steadying  her  voice  as  best  she  might. 
"  They're — very  old  friends." 

"  What's  that?  "  demanded  Bostwick,  coming  into 
the  room  and  pointing  at  the  bright  nugget  pin, 
lying  exposed  upon  the  table.  "  Some  present,  I 
suppose,  for  Mrs.  Dick?  "  He  started  to  take  it  in 
his  hand. 

Van  interposed.  "  It's  neither  for  Mrs.  Dick  nor 
for  you.  It's  a  present  I've  made  to  Miss  Kent." 

157 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

Bostwick  elevated  his  brows. 

"Indeed?" 

Beth  fluttered  in  with  a  word  of  defense. 

"  It's  just  a  little  souvenir — that's  all — a  souvenir 
of — of  my  escape  from  those  terrible  men." 

"And  Searle's  return,"  added  Van,  who  felt  the 
very  devil  in  his  veins  at  sight  of  Bostwick  helpless 
and  enraged. 

Searle  opened  his  lips  as  if  to  fling  out  something 
of  his  wrath.  He  held  it  back  and  turned  to  Beth. 

"It  will  soon  be  night.  We  have  much  to  do. 
I  suppose  I  may  see  you,  privately — even  here?  " 

Beth  was  helpless.  And  in  the  circumstances  she 
wished  for  Van  to  go. 

"  Certainly,"  she  answered,  raising  her  eyes  for 
a  second  to  the  horseman's,  " — that  is — if " 

"  Certainly,"  Van  answered  cordially.  "  Good- 
by."  He  advanced  and  held  out  his  hand. 

She  gave  him  her  own  because  there  was  nothing 
else  to  do — and  the  tingling  of  his  being  made  it 
burn.  She  did  not  dare  to  meet  his  gaze. 

"  So  long,  Searle,"  he  added  smilingly.  "  Better 
turn  that  grouch  out  to  pasture." 

Then  he  went. 


158 


CHAPTER  XX 

QUEENIE 

THE  shadows  of  evening  met  Van  as  he  stepped 
from  the  outside  door  and  started  up  the  street. 
Then  a  figure  emerged  from  the  shadows  and  met 
him  by  the  corner. 

It  was  Queenie.  Her  eyes  were  red  from  weep 
ing.  A  smile  that  someway  affected  Van  most  poign 
antly,  he  knew  not  why,  came  for  a  moment  to  her 
lips. 

"  You  didn't  expect  to  see  me  here,"  she  said.  "  I 
had  to  come  to  see  if  it  was  so." 

"  What  is  it,  Queenie  ?  What  do  you  mean  ? 
What  do  you  want  ?  "  he  answered.  "  What's  the 
trouble?" 

"  Nothing,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  want  nothing  I 
can  git — I  guess — unless — Oh,  is  it  her,  Van?  Is  it 
sure  all  over  with  me?  " 

"  Look  here,"  he  said,  not  unkindly,  "  you've  al 
ways  been  mistaken,  Queenie.  I  told  you  at  the 
time — that  time  in  Arizona — I'd  have  done  what  I 
did  for  an  Indian  squaw — for  any  woman  in  the 
world.  Why  couldn't  you  let  it  go  at  that  ?  " 

"  You  know  why  I  couldn't,"  she  answered  with 
a  certain  intensity  of  utterance  that  gave  him  a 

159 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

species  of  chill.  "After  what  you  done — like  the 
only  real  friend  I  ever  had — I  belonged  to  you — and 
couldn't  even  take  myself  away." 

"  But  I  didn't  want  anyone  to  belong  to  me, 
Queenie.  You  know  that.  I  could  barely  support 
my  clothes." 

Her  eyes  burned  with  a  strange  luminosity.  Her 
utterance  was  eager. 

"  But  you  want  somebody  to  belong  to  you  now  ? 
Ain't  that  what's  the  matter  with  you  now?  " 

He  did  not  answer  directly. 

"  I  didn't  think  it  was  in  you,  Queenie,  to  follow 
me  around  and  play  the  spy.  I've  liked  you  pretty 
well— but— I  couldn't  like  this." 

She  stared  at  him  helplessly,  as  an  animal  might 
have  looked. 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,"  she  murmured,  repressing 
some  terrible  emotion  of  despair.  "  I  won't  never 
trouble  you  no  more." 

She  turned  around  and  went  away,  walking  un 
certainly,  as  if  from  physical  weakness  and  the  blind 
ness  of  pain. 

Van  felt  himself  inordinately  wrung — felt  it  a 
cruelty  not  to  run  and  overtake  her — give  her  some 
measure  of  comfort.  There  was  nothing  he  could 
do  that  would  not  be  misunderstood.  Moreover,  he 
had  no  adequate  idea  of  what  was  in  her  mind — 
or  in  her  homeless  heart.  He  had  known  her  always 
as  a  butterfly ;  he  could  not  take  her  tragically  now. 

"  Poor  girl,"  he  said  as  he  watched  her  vanish- 
160 


Queenie 

ing  from  sight,  "if  only  she  had  ever  had  a 
show!" 

He  looked  back  at  Mrs.  Dick's.  Bostwick  had 
ousted  him  after  all,  before  he  could  extenuate  his 
madness,  before  he  could  ascertain  whether  Beth  were 
angry  or  not — before  he  could  bid  her  good-by. 

Now  that  the  cool  of  evening  was  upon  him,  along 
with  the  chill  of  sober  reflection,  he  feared  for  what 
he  had  done.  He  was  as  mad,  as  crude  as  Queenie. 
Yet  his  fear  of  Beth's  opinion  was  a  sign  that  he 
loved  her  as  a  woman  should  be  loved,  sacredly,  and 
with  a  certain  awe,  although  he  made  no  such  analy 
sis,  and  took  no  credit  to  himself  for  the  half  regrets 
that  persistently  haunted  his  reflections. 

It  would  be  a  moonlight  night,  he  pondered.  He 
had  counted  on  riding  by  the  lunar  glow  to  the 
"  Laughing  Water  "  claim.  Would  Beth,  by  any 
possibility,  attempt  to  see  him — come  out,  perhaps, 
in  the  moonlight — for  a  word  before  he  should  go? 

He  could  not  entertain  a  thought  of  departing 
without  again  beholding  her.  He  wanted  to  know 
what  she  would  say,  and  when  he  might  see  her  again. 
After  all,  what  was  the  hurry  to  depart?  He  might 
as  well  wait  a  little  longer. 

He  went  to  the  hay-yard.  Dave  had  disappeared. 
Half  an  hour  of  search  failed  to  bring  him  to  light. 
On  the  point  of  entering  a  restaurant  to  allay  his 
sense  of  emptiness,  Van  was  suddenly  accosted  by  a 
wild-eyed  man,  bare-headed  and  sweating,  who  ran 
at  him,  calling  as  he  came. 

161 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"Hey!"  he  cried.  "Van  Buren!  Come  on! 
Come  on!  She's  dyin'  and  all  she  wants  is 
you!" 

"What's  wrong  with  you,  man?"  inquired  the 
horseman,  halted  by  the  fellow's  words.  "  What  are 
you  talking  about?  " 

"  Queenie ! "  gasped  the  fellow,  panting  for  his 
breath.  "  Took  poison — 0,  Lord !  Come  on ! 
Come  on  !  She  don't  want  nothing  but  you !  " 

Van  turned  exceedingly  pale. 

"  Poison  ?     What  you  want  is  the  doctor !  " 

"  He's  there — long  ago ! "  answered  the  informant 
excitedly,  and  swabbing  perspiration  from  his  face. 
"  She  won't  touch  his  dope.  It's  all  over,  I  guess 
— only  she  wants  to  see  you." 

"  Show  me  the  way,  then — show  me  the  way. 
Where  is  she? "  Van  shook  the  man's  shoulder 
roughly.  "Don't  stand  here  trembling.  Take  me 
to  the  place." 

The  man  was  in  a  wretched  plight,  from  fear  and 
the  physical  suffering  induced  by  what  he  had  seen. 
He  reeled  drunkenly  as  he  started  down  the  street, 
then  off  between  some  rows  of  canvas  structures, 
heading  for  a  district  hung  with  red. 

At  the  edge  of  this  place,  at  an  isolated  cabin, 
comprising  two  small,  rough  rooms,  the  man  seemed 
threatened  with  collapse. 

"  May  be  too  late,"  he  whispered  hoarsely,  as  he 
listened  and  heard  no  sounds  from  the  house.  "  I'm 
goin'  to  stay  outside — and  wait." 

162 


Queenie 

The  door  was  ajar.  Without  waiting  for  any 
thing  further,  Van  pushed  it  open  and  entered. 

"  There  he  is — I  knew  it ! "  cried  Queenie  from 
the  room  at  the  rear.  It  was  a  cry  that  smote  Van 
like  a  stab. 

Then  he  came  to  the  room  where  she  was  lying. 

"I  knew  you'd  come — I  knew  it,  Van!"  said  the 
girl  in  a  sudden  outburst  of  sobbing,  and  she  tried 
to  rise  upon  her  pillow.  Agony,  which  she  had 
fought  down  wildly,  seized  her  in  a  spasm.  She 
doubled  on  the  bed. 

Van  glanced  about  quickly.  The  doctor — a 
young,  inexperienced  man — was  there,  sweating,  a 
look  of  abject  helplessness  upon  his  face.  The  room 
was  a  poor  tawdry  place,  with  gaudy  decorations 
and  a  litter  of  Queenie's  finery.  In  her  effort  to 
conquer  the  pains  that  possessed  her  body,  the  girl 
had  distorted  her  face  almost  past  recognition. 

Van  came  to  the  bedside  directly,  placed  his  hand 
on  her  shoulder,  and  gave  her  one  of  his  character 
istic  little  shakings. 

"  Queenie,  what  have  you  done  ? "  he  said. 
"What's  going  on?" 

She  tried  to  smile.      It  was  a  terrible  effort. 

"  It's  nobody's  fault — but  what  was  the  use,  Van? 
— what  was  there  in  it  for  me?" 

"  She  won't  take  anything — the  antidote — any 
thing  !  There  isn't  a  stomach  pump  in  town !  "  the 
doctor  broke  in  desperately.  "  She's  got  to !  It's 
getting  too  late!  We'll  have  to  force  it  down! 

163 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

Maybe  she'd  take  it  for  you."  He  thrust  a  goblet 
into  Van's  nervous  hand.  It  contained  a  misty  drink. 

"  For  God's  sake  take  this,  Queenie,"  Van  im 
plored.  "Take  it  quick!" 

She  shrank  away,  attempting  with  amazing  force 
of  will  to  mask  her  pain. 

"  I'd  take  the  stuff — for  your  sake — when  I — 
wouldn't  for  God,"  she  faltered,  sitting  up,  despite 
her  bodily  anguish.  "  You  don't  ask  me  to — do  it 
for  you." 

"  I  do,  Queenie — take  it  for  me ! "  he  answered, 
wrung  again  as  he  had  been  at  her  smiles,  an  hour 
before,  but  now  with  heart-piercing  poignancy. 
"  Take  it  for  me,  if  you  won't  for  anyone  else." 

She  received  the  glass — and  deliberately  threw  it 
on  the  floor.  The  doctor  cried  out  sharply.  Queenie 
shook  her  head,  all  the  time  fighting  down  her  agony, 
which  was  fast  making  inroads  to  her  life.  She 
fell  back  on  her  pillow. 

"  You  didn't — ask  me — Van  'cause  you  love  me. 
Nobody — wants  me  to  live.  That's  all  right.  Do 
you  s'pose  you  could  kiss  me  good-by  ?  " 

The  look  on  her  face  was  peculiarly  childish,  as 
she  drove  out  the  lines  of  anguish  in  a  superhuman 
effort  made  for  him.  And  the  yearning  there 
brought  back  again  that  thought  he  had  voiced  be 
fore,  that  night — why  couldn't  the  child  have  had  a 
chance  ? 

The  doctor  was  feverishly  mixing  another  potent 
drink. 

164, 


Queenie 

Van  bent  down  and  kissed  her,  indulgently. 

"  Force  her  to  take  it !  "  cried  the  doctor  des 
perately.  «  Force  her  to  take  it !  " 

"  Queenie,"  Van  said,  "  you've  got  to  take  this 
stuff." 

Her  hand  had  found  his  and  clutched  it  with  gal 
vanic  strength. 

"  Don't — make  me,"  she  begged,  closing  her  eyes 
in  a  species  of  ecstacy  that  no  man  may  understand. 
"  I'd  rather — not — Van — please.  Only  about  a 
minute  now.  Ain't  it  funny — that  love — can  burn 
you — up  ?  "  Her  grip  had  tightened  on  his  hand. 

The  doctor  ran  to  the  window,  which  he  found 
already  opened.  He  ran  back  in  a  species  of 
frenzy. 

"  Make  her  take  it,  make  her  take  it !  God !  " 
he  said.  "  Not  to  do  anything — not  to  do  a  thing !  " 

Queenie  smiled  at  Van  again — terribly.  Her  fin 
gers  felt  like  iron  rods,  pressing  into  his  flesh.  As 
if  to  complete  her  renunciation  she  dropped  his  hand 
abruptly.  She  mastered  some  violent  convulsion 
that  left  the  merest  flicker  of  her  life. 

"  Good-by,  Van — good  luck,"  she  whispered 
faintly. 

"  Queenie !  "  he  said.      "  Queenie !  " 

Perhaps  she  heard.  After  an  ordeal  that  seemed 
interminable  her  face  was  calm  and  still,  a  faint 
smile  frozen  on  her  marble  features. 

Van  waited  there  a  long  time.  Someway  it  seemed 
as  if  this  thing  could  be  undone.  The  place  was 

165 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

terribly  still.     The  doctor  sat  there  as  if  in  response 
to  a  duty.     He  was  dumb. 

When  Van  went  out,  the  man  on  the  doorstep 
staggered  in. 

The  moon  was  up.  It  shone  obliquely  down  into 
all  that  rock-lined  basin,  surrounded  by  the  stern, 
forbidding  hills — the  ancient,  burned-out  furnace  of 
gold  that  man  was  reheating  with  his  passions.  Afar 
in  all  directions  the  lighted  tents  presented  a  ghostly 
unreality,  their  canvas  walls  illumined  by  the  candles 
glowing  within.  A  jargon  of  dance-hall  music  floated 
on  the  air.  Outside  it  all  was  the  desert  silence — 
the  silence  of  a  world  long  dead. 

Van  would  gladly  have  mounted  his  horse  and  rid 
den  away — far  off,  no  matter  where.  Goldite,  bi 
zarre  and  tragic — a  microcosm  of  the  world  that 
man  has  fashioned — was  a  blot  of  discordant  life,  he 
felt,  upon  an  otherwise  peaceful  world.  As  a  matter 
of  fact  it  had  only  begun  its  evening's  story. 

He  stood  in  the  road,  alone,  for  several  minutes, 
before  he  felt  he  could  begin  to  resume  the  round 
of  his  own  existence.  When  he  came  at  length  to 
the  main  street's  blaze  of  light,  a  deeply  packed 
throng  could  be  seen  in  all  the  thoroughfare,  com 
pactly  blocked  in  front  of  a  large  saloon. 

Culver,  the  Government  representative  in  the  land- 
office  needs,  had  been  found  in  his  office  murdered. 
He  had  been  stabbed.  Van's  knife,  bought  for 
Gettysburg,  had  been  employed — and  found  there, 
red  with  its  guilt. 

166 


Queenie 

All  this  Van  was  presently  to  discover.  He  was 
walking  towards  the  surging  mob  when  a  miner  he 
had  frequently  seen  came  running  up  and  halted  in 
the  light  of  a  window.  Then  the  man  began  to 
yell. 

"  Here  he  is !  "  he  cried.      "  Van  Buren ! " 
The  mob  appeared  to  break  at  the  cry.      Fifty 
men  charged  down  the  street  in  a  species  of  madness 
and  Van  was  instantly  surrounded. 


167 


CHAPTER  XXI 

IN  THE  SHADOW  OF   THE   ROPE 

MOB  madness  is  beyond  explanation.  Cattle 
stampeding  are  no  more  senseless  than  men  in  such 
a  state.  Goldite,  however,  was  not  only  habitually 
keyed  to  the  highest  of  tension,  but  it  had  recently 
been  excited  to  the  breaking  point  by  several  con 
tributing  factors.  Lawless  thefts  of  one  another's 
claims,  ore  stealing,  high  pressure  over  the  coming 
rush  to  the  Indian  reservation,  and  a  certain  appre 
hension  engendered  by  the  deeds  of  those  liberated 
convicts — all  these  elements  had  aroused  an  over- 
revulsion  of  feeling  towards  criminality  and  a  desire 
to  apply  some  manner  of  law.  And  the  primal  laws 
are  the  laws  that  spring  into  being  at  such  a  time 
as  this — the  laws  that  cry  out  for  an  eye  for  an  eye 
and  a  swiftness  of  legal  execution. 

Into  the  vortex  of  Goldite's  sudden  revulsion  Van 
was  swept  like  a  straw.  There  was  no  real  chance 
for  a  hearing.  His  friends  of  the  morning  had  lost 
all  sense  of  loyalty.  They  were  almost  as  crazed  as 
those  whom  his  recent  success  had  irritated.  The 
story  of  his  row  with  Culver  had  spread  throughout 
the  confines  of  the  camp.  No  link  in  the  chain  of 
circumstantial  evidence  seemed  wanting  to  convict 

168 


Don't  you  want  to  give  this  man  a  chance?' 


Page  169 


In  the  Shadow  of  the  Rope 

him.  A  bawling  sea  of  human  beings  surrounded 
him  with  violence  and  menace. 

To  escape  the  over-wrought  citizens,  the  sheriff, 
assuming  charge  of  Van,  dragged  him  on  top  of  a 
stack  of  lumber,  piled  three  feet  high  before  a 
building.  The  cry  for  a  rope  and  a  lynching  began 
with  a  promptness  that  few  would  have  expected. 
In  normal  times  it  could  scarcely  have  been  broached. 

Snatching  new-made  deputies,  hit-or-miss  from 
the  mob,  and  summarily  demanding  their  services, 
the  sheriff  exerted  his  utmost  powers  to  stem  the  tide 
that  was  rising.  Something  akin  to  a  trial  began 
then  and  there.  A  big  red-faced  drummer  from 
Chicago,  a  man  that  Van  had  never  seen,  became  his 
voluntary  advocate,  standing  between  him  and  the 
mob. 

He  had  power,  that  man,  both  of  limb  and  pres 
ence.  His  voice,  also,  was  mighty.  He  shoved  men 
about  like  rubber  puppets  and  shouted  his  demands 
for  law  and  order. 

Van,  having  flung  off  half  a  dozen  citizens,  who 
in  the  excitement  had  felt  some  fanatical  necessity 
for  clutching  him,  faced  the  human  wolves  about  him 
in  a  spirit  of  angry  resentment.  The  big  man  from 
Chicago  mowed  his  way  to  the  pile  of  lumber  and 
clambered  up  by  the  sheriff.  The  pile  raised  its 
occupants  only  well  above  the  surging  pack  of  faces. 

"  Stop  your  howling !  Stop  your  noise !  "  roared 
the  drummer  from  his  elevation.  "  Don't  you  want 
to  give  this  man  a  chance?  " 

169 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

He  was  heard  throughout  the  street. 

"  He's  got  to  prove  his  innocence  or  hang ! "  cried 
someone  shrilly.  "  A  murder  foul  as  that !  " 

Another  one  bawled :  "  Where  was  he  then  ?  Make 
him  tell  where  he  was  at  six  o'clock ! " 

Culver's  watch  had  been  shattered  and  stopped  at 
precisely  six  o'clock,  presumably  by  his  fall  against 
a  table  in  his  office,  when  he  suddenly  went  down, 
at  the  hands  of  his  assassin.  This  fact  was  in  pos 
session  of  the  crowd. 

A  general  shout  for  Van  to  explain  where  he  was 
at  the  vital  moment  arose  from  all  the  crowd.  The 
drummer  turned  to  Van. 

"  There  you  are,"  he  said.  "  There's  your  chance. 
If  you  wasn't  around  the  surveyor's  shack,  you  ought 
to  be  able  to  prove  it." 

Van  could  have  proved  his  alibi  at  once,  by  sending 
around  to  Queenie's  residence.  He  was  nettled  into 
a  stubbornness  of  mind  and  righteous  anger  by  all 
this  senseless  accusation.  He  did  not  realize  his 
danger — the  blackness  of  the  case  against  him.  That 
a  lynching  was  possible  he  could  scarcely  have  been 
made  to  believe.  Nevertheless,  as  the  Queenie  matter 
was  one  of  no  secrecy  and  the  facts  must  soon  be 
known,  he  was  turning  to  the  drummer  to  make  his 
reply  when  his  eye  was  caught  by  a  face,  far  out  in 
the  mass  of  human  forms. 

It  was  Beth  that  he  saw,  her  cheek  intensely  white 
in  the  light  streaming  forth  from  a  store.  Bost- 
wick  was  there  at  her  side.  Both  had  been  caught 

170 


In  the  Shadow  of  the  Rope 

in  the  press  of  the  throng  as  they  came  from  the 
telegraph  office. 

He  realized  that  at  best  his  story  concerning 
Queenie  would  be  sufficiently  black.  With  Beth  in 
this  theater  of  accusation  the  story  of  Queenie  must 
wait. 

"  It's  nobody's  business  where  I  was,"  he  said. 
"  This  whole  affair  is  absurd !  " 

Half  a  dozen  of  the  men  who  were  nearest  heard 
his  reply.  One  of  them  roared  it  out  lustily.  The 
mob  was  enraged.  The  cries  for  a  violent  termina 
tion  to  the  scene  increased  in  volume.  Men  were 
shouting,  swearing,  and  surging  back  and  forth  tu- 
multuously,  wrought  to  a  frenzy  of  primal  virtue. 

One  near  Beth  called  repeatedly  for  a  lynching. 
He  had  cut  a  long  new  piece  of  rope  from  a  coil 
at  a  store  of  supplies  and  was  trying  to  drag  it 
through  the  crowd. 

The  girl  had  heard  and  seen  it  all.  She  realized 
its  full  significance.  She  had  never  in  her  life  felt 
so  horribly  oppressed  with  a  sense  of  terrible  things 
impending.  Impetuously  she  accosted  a  man  who 
stood  at  her  side. 

"  Oh,  tell  them  he  was  with  me ! "  she  said. 

The  man  looked  her  over,  and  raising  himself  on 
his  tip  toes,  shook  his  hat  wildly  at  the  mob. 

"  Say,"  he  shouted  at  the  top  of  his  might,  "  here's 
a  girl  he  was  with  at  six  o'clock." 

It  seemed  as  if  only  the  men  near  at  hand  either 
heard  or  paid  attention.  On  the  farther  side,  away 

171 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

from  Beth,  the  shouts  for  mob  law  were  increasing. 
She  turned  to  Bostwick  hotly. 

"  Can't  you  do  anything?  Tell  them  he  was  there 
with  us — down  at  Mrs.  Dick's  at  six  o'clock !  " 

"He  wasn't!"  said  Searle.  "He  left  there  at 
five  forty-five." 

The  man  who  had  shouted  listened  to  them  both. 

"  Five  forty-five?  "  he  repeated.  "  That  makes  a 
difference ! " 

The  drummer  had  caught  the  shout  from  out  at 
the  edge. 

"Who's  that?"  he  called.  "Who's  got  that 
alibi?" 

"  All  wrong ! — No  good !  "  yelled  the  man  who 
stood  by  Beth. 

The  girl  had  failed  to  realize  how  her  statement 
would  sound — in  such  a  place  as  Goldite.  Van  had 
turned  sick  when  it  reached  him.  He  was  emphat 
ically  denying  the  story.  The  gist  of  it  went  through 
the  mass  of  maddened  beings,  only  to  be  so  soon 
impugned  by  the  man  who  had  started  it  from 
Beth.  The  fury,  at  what  was  deemed  an  attempted 
deception,  burst  out  with  accumulated  force. 

The  sheriff  had  drawn  a  revolver  and  was  shouting 
to  the  mob  to  keep  away. 

"This  man  has  got  to  go  to  jail!"  he  yelled. 
"  You've  got  to  act  accordin'  to  the  law ! " 

He  ordered  his  deputies  to  clear  the  crowd  and 
make  ready  for  retreat.  Three  of  them  endeavored 
to  obey.  Their  efforts  served  to  aggravate  the  mob. 

172 


In  the  Shadow  of  the  Rope 

Confusion  and  chaos  of  judgment  seemed  rising  like 
a  tide.  In  the  very  air  was  a  feeling  that  suddenly 
something  would  go,  something  too  far  strained 
to  hold,  and  some  terrible  deed  occur  before  these 
people  could  ask  themselves  how  it  had  been  accom 
plished. 

The  fellow  with  the  rope  was  being  boosted  for 
ward  by  half  a  dozen  intoxicated  fools.  Had  the 
rope  been  a  burning  fuse  it  could  scarcely  have 
ignited  more  dangerous  material  than  did  its  strands 
of  manilla,  in  those  who  could  lay  their  hands  upon  it. 

The  drummer  was  shouting  himself  raw  in  the 
throat — in  vain. 

Van  was  courting  disaster  by  the  very  defiance 
of  his  attitude.  It  seemed  as  if  nothing  could  save 
him,  when  two  separate  things  occurred. 

The  doctor  who  had  been  with  Van  at  Queenie's 
death  arrived  in  the  press,  got  wind  of  the  crisis, 
and  vehemently  protested  the  truth.  Simultaneously, 
the  lumberman,  Trimmer,  drunk,  and  enjoying  what 
he  deemed  a  joke,  hoarsely  confided  to  some  sober  men 
the  fact  that  Cayuse  had  done  the  murder. 

Even  then,  when  two  centers  of  opposition  to  the 
madness  of  the  mob  had  been  created,  the  menace 
could  not  at  once  be  halted. 

The  man  with  the  rope  had  approached  so  near 
the  lumber-pile  that  the  sheriff  could  all  but  reach 
him.  A  furious  battle  ensued,  and  waged  around 
the  planks,  between  the  deputies  and  lynchers.  It 
lasted  till  fifty  active  men  of  the  camp,  aroused 

173 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

to  a  sense  of  reaction  by  the  facts  that  were  now 
becoming  known,  hurled  the  struggling  fighters  apart 
and  dragged  them  off,  all  the  while  spreading  the 
news  they  had  heard  concerning  the  half-breed  In 
dian. 

No  less  excited  when  at  last  they  knew  that  Van 
was  innocent,  the  great  crowd  still  occupied  the 
street,  hailing  Trimmer  to  the  lumber-pile  and  de 
manding  to  know  how  he  came  by  the  facts,  and 
where  Cayuse  had  gone. 

Trimmer  was  frightened  into  soberness — at  least 
into  soberness  sufficient  to  protect  himself  and  Mc- 
Coppet.  He  said  he  had  seen  the  Indian  coming 
from  Culver's  office,  with  blood  upon  his  hands.  The 
Indian  had  gone  straight  westward  from  the  town, 
to  elude  pursuit  in  the  mountains. 

The  fact  that  Van  had  been  at  Queenie's  side 
at  her  death  became  town  property  at  once.  It 
came  in  all  promptness  to  Beth. 

With  a  feeling  of  sickness  pervading  all  her  being, 
she  was  glad  to  have  Bostwick  take  her  home. 

It  was  late  when  at  last  the  street  was  clear,  and 
Van  could  finally  make  his  escape  from  danger  and 
returning  friends.  Dave  by  then  had  found  him 
self;  that  is,  he  made  his  way,  thus  tardily,  to  the 
horseman's  side — and  the  two  went  at  length  to  their 
dinner. 

At  half-past  eight,  with  the  moon  well  up,  Dave 
and  Van  were  ready  for  departure.  Their  horses 
were  saddled.  One  extra  animal  was  packed  with 

174 


In  the  Shadow  of  the  Rope 

needed  provisions  for  the  crew  on  the  "  Laughing 
Water  "  claim.  Van  had  ordered  all  he  could  for 
Queenie's  final  journey — the  camp's  best  possible 
funeral,  which  he  could  not  remain  to  attend.  There 
was  nothing  to  do  but  to  mount  and  ride  away,  but 
— Beth  was  down  at  Mrs.  Dick's. 

Resistance  was  useless.  Bidding  Dave  wait  with 
the  horses  at  the  yard,  Van  made  his  way  around 
through  the  shadows  of  the  houses,  and  coming  out 
upon  a  rocky  hill,  a  little  removed  from  the  boarding 
place,  was  startled  to  see  Beth  abruptly  rise  before 
him. 

The  house  had  oppressed  her — and  the  moon  had 
called.  Bostwick,  in  alarm  concerning  possible  dis 
aster  to  the  plans  he  had  made  with  McCoppet,  now 
that  Culver  was  dead,  had  gone  to  seek  the  gambler 
out  and  ascertain  the  status  of  affairs. 


175 


CHAPTER  XXII 

TWO    MEETINGS    AFTER    DARK 

FOR  a  moment  neither  Beth  nor  Van  could  speak. 
The  girl,  like  a  startled  moon-sprite,  wide-eyed  and 
grave,  had  taken  on  a  mood  of  beauty  such  as  the 
man  had  never  seen.  She  seemed  to  him  strangely 
fragile,  a  trifle  pale,  but  wholly  exquisite,  enchant 
ing. 

No  signs  were  on  her  face,  but  she  had  wept — 
hot,  angry  tears,  within  the  hour.  And  here  was 
the  cause  of  them  all!  She  had  wished  he  would 
come — and  feared  he  would  come,  as  conflicting  emo 
tions  possessed  her.  Now  that  he  stood  here,  with 
moonlight  on  half  of  his  face,  her  thoughts  were  all 
unmarshaled. 

Van  presently  spoke. 

"  I'm  a  kid,  after  all.  I  couldn't  go  away  without 
—this." 

"  I  wish  you  had !  I  wish  you  had !  "  she  an 
swered,  at  his  smile.  "  I  wish  I  had  never  seen  you 
in  the  world !  " 

His  heart  was  sore  for  jesting,  but  he  would  not 
change  his  way. 

"  If  not  in  the  world,  where  would  you  have  wished 
to  see  me,  then  ?  " 

176 


Two  Meetings  After  Dark 

"  I  never  wished  to  see  you  at  all ! "  she  replied. 
"  Your  joke  has  gone  too  far.  You  have  utterly 
mistaken  my  sense  of  gratitude." 

"  Guess  not,"  he  said.  "  I  haven't  looked  for 
gratitude — nor  wanted  it,  either." 

"  You  had  no  right ! "  she  continued.  "  You 
have  said  things — done  things — you  have  taken 
shameful  advantage — you  have  treated  me  like — I 

suppose  like — that  other — that  other You 

dared!" 

Van's  face  took  on  an  expression  of  hardness,  to 
mask  the  hurt  of  his  heart. 

u  Who  says  so  ?  "  he  demanded  quietly.  "  You 
know  better." 

"  It's  true !  "  she  answered  hotly.  "  You  had  no 
right!  It  was  mere  brute  strength!  You  cannot 
deny  what  you  have  been — to  that  miserable  woman !  " 
Tears  of  anger  sped  from  her  eyes,  and  she  dashed 
them  hotly  away. 

Van  stepped  a  little  closer. 

"  Beth,"  he  said,  suddenly  taking  her  hand,  "  none 
of  this  is  true,  and  you  know  it.  You're  angry 
with  that  woman,  not  with  me." 

She  snatched  her  hand  away. 

"You  shan't!"  she  said.  "  Don't  you  dare  to 
touch  me  again.  I  hate  you — hate  you  for  what 
you  have  done!  You've  been  a  brute  probably  to 
her  as  well  as  to  me ! " 

"  To  you  ?     When  ?  "  he  demanded 

"  All  the  time !      To-day ! — Now  ! — when  you  say 

177 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

I'm  angry  at  a — woman  who  is  dead ! — a  woman  who 
died  for  you !  " 

It  hit  him. 

"  Poor  Queenie,"  he  said,  "  poor  child." 

"  Yes — poor  Queenie !  "  Her  eyes  blazed  in  the 
moonlight.  "  To  think  that  you  dared  to  treat  me 
like " 

"  Beth !  "  he  interrupted,  "  I  won't  permit  it.  I 
told  you  to-day  I  loved  you.  That  makes  things 
right.  You  love  me,  and  that  makes  them  sacred. 
I'd  do  all  I've  done  over  again — all  of  it — Queenie 
and  the  rest !  I'm  not  ashamed,  nor  sorry  for  any 
thing  I've  done.  I  love  you — I  say — I  love  you. 
That's  what  I've  never  done  before — and  never  said 
I  did — and  that's  what  makes  things  right ! " 

Beth  was  confused  by  what  he  said — confused  in 
her  judgment,  her  emotions.  Weakly  she  clung  to 
her  argument. 

"  You  haven't  any  right — it  isn't  true  when  you 
say  I  love  you.  I  don't !  I  won't !  You  can't  deny 
that  woman  died  of  a  broken  heart  for  you ! " 

"  I  don't  deny  anything  about  her,"  he  said.  "  I 
tried  to  be  her  friend.  God  knows  she  needed  friends. 
She  was  only  a  child,  a  pretty  child.  I'm  sorry. 
I've  always  been  sorry.  She  knew  I  was  only  a 
friend." 

She  felt  he  was  honest.  She  knew  he  was  wrung — 
suffering,  but  not  in  his  conscience.  Yet  what  was 
she  to  think?  She  had  heard  it  all — all  of  Queenie's 
story. 

178 


Two  Meetings  After  Dark 

"  You  kissed  her,"  she  said,  and  red  flamed  up  in 
her  cheeks. 

"  It  was  all  she  asked,"  he  answered  simply.  "  She 
was  dying." 

"  And  you're  paying  for  her  funeral." 

"  I  said  I  was  her  friend." 

"  Oh,  the  shamelessness  of  it ! "  she  exclaimed  as 
before,  " — the  way  it  looks !  And  to  think  of  what 
you  dared  to  do  to  me !  " 

"  Yes,  I  kissed  you  without  your  asking,"  he  con 
fessed.  "  I  expect  to  kiss  you  a  hundred  thousand 
times.  I  expect  to  make  you  my  wife — for  a  love 
like  ours  is  rare.  Whatever  else  you  think  you  want 
to  say,  Beth — now — don't  say  it — unless  it's  just 
good-night." 

With  a  sudden  move  forward  he  took  her  two 
shoulders  in  his  powerful  hands  and  gave  her  a  rough 
little  shake.  Then  his  palms  went  swiftly  to  her 
face,  he  kissed  her  on  the  lips,  and  let  her  go. 

"  You ! — Oh !  "  she  cried,  and  turning  she  ran 
down  the  slope  of  the  hill  as  hard  as  she  could 
travel. 

He  watched  her  going  in  the  moonlight.  Even  her 
shadow  was  beautiful,  he  thought,  but  all  his  joy 
was  grave. 

She  disappeared  within  the  house,  without  once 
turning*  to  see  what  he  had  done.  He  could  not 
know  that  from  one  of  the  darkened  windows  she 
presently  peered  forth  and  watched  him  depart  from 
the  hill.  He  was  not  so  assured  as  he  had  tried  to 

179 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

make  her  think,  and  soberness  dwelt  within  his  breast. 

Half  an  hour  later  he  and  old  Dave  were  riding 
up  the  mountain  in  the  moonlight.  The  night  from 
the  eminence  was  glorious,  now  that  the  town  was 
left  behind.  Goldite  lay  far  below  in  the  old  dead 
theatre  of  past  activities,  dotting  the  barren  im 
mensity  with  its  softened  lights  like  the  little  thing 
it  was.  How  remote  it  seemed  already,  with  its 
vices,  woes,  and  joys,  its  comedy  and  tragedy,  its 
fevers,  strifes,  and  toil,  disturbing  nothing  of  the 
vast  serenity  of  the  planet,  ever  rolling  on  its  way. 
How  coldly  the  moon  seemed  looking  on  the  scene. 
And  yet  it  had  cast  a  shadow  of  a  girl  to  set  a  man 
aflame. 

Meantime  Bostwick  had  been  delayed  in  securing 
McCoppet's  attention.  The  town  was  still  excited 
over  all  that  had  happened;  the  saloons  were  full 
of  men.  Culver  had  been  an  important  person, 
needful  to  many  of  the  miners  and  promoters  of 
mining.  His  loss  was  an  aggravation,  especially  as 
his  deputy,  Lawrence,  was  away. 

The  more  completely  to  allay  suspicions  that  might 
by  any  possibility  creep  around  the  circle  to  him 
self,  McCoppet  had  been  the  camp's  most  active 
figure  in  organizing  a  posse,  with  the  sheriff,  to  go 
out  and  capture  Cayuse.  His  reasons  for  desiring 
the  half-breed's  end  were  naturally  strong,  neverthe 
less  his  active  partisanship  of  law  and  justice  excited 
no  undesirable  talk.  He  was  simply  an  influential 
citizen  engaged  in  a  laudable  work. 

180 


Two  Meetings  After  Dark 

It  was  late  when  at  length  he  and  Bostwick  could 
snatch  a  few  minutes  to  themselves.  The  gambler's 
first  question  then  was  something  of  a  puzzle  to 
Bostwick. 

"  Well,  have  you  got  that  thirty  thousand?  " 

"Got  it?  Yes,  I've  got  it,"  Bostwick  an 
swered  nervously,  "  but  what  is  the  good  of  it 
now?" 

It  was  McCoppet's  turn  to  be  puzzled. 

"  Anything  gone  wrong  with  Van  Buren,  or  his 
claim?" 

"  Good  heavens !  Isn't  it  sufficient  to  have  things 
all  gone  wrong  with  Culver?  What  could  be  worse 
than  that?" 

The  gambler  flung  his  cigar  away  and  hung  a 
fresh  one  on  his  lip. 

"  Say,  don't  you  worry  on  Culver.  Don't  his 
deputy  take  his  place?  " 

"His  deputy?" 

"  Sure,  his  deputy — Lawrence — a  man  we  can  get, 
hands  down." 

Bostwick  stared  at  him  hopefully. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  this  accident — this  crime 
— is  fortunate,  after  all?  " 

"  It's  a  godsend."  McCoppet  would  have  dared 
any  blasphemy. 

Bostwick's  relief  was  inordinate. 

"Then  what  is  the  next  thing  to  do?  " 

"  Wait  for  Lawrence,"  said  the  gambler.  Then 
he  suddenly  arose.  "  No,  we  can't  afford  the  time. 

181 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

He  might  be  a  week  in  coming.  You'll  have  to  go 
get  him,  to-morrow." 

"Where  is  he,  then?" 

"  Way  out  South,  on  a  survey.  You'd  better  take 
that  car  of  yours,  with  a  couple  of  men  I'll  send 
along,  and  fetch  him  back  mighty  pronto.  We 
can't  let  a  deal  like  this  look  raw.  The  sooner  he 
runs  that  reservation  line  the  better  things  will  ap 
pear." 

Bostwick,  too,  had  risen. 

"  Will  your  men  know  where  to  find  him?  " 

"If  he's  still  on  the  map,"  said  the  gambler. 
"  You  leave  that  to  me.  Better  go  see  about  your 
car  to-night.  I'll  hustle  your  men  and  your  outfit. 
See  you  again  if  anything  turns  up  important. 
Meantime,  is  your  money  in  the  bank?" 

"It's  in  the  bank." 

"  Right,"  said  McCoppet.     "  Good-night." 


182 


CHAPTER  XXIII 


THE  following  day  in  Goldite  was  one  of  occur 
rences,  all  more  or  less  intimately  connected  with 
the  affairs  of  Van  and  Beth. 

Bostwick  succeeded  in  making  an  early  start  to 
the  southward  in  his  car.  McCoppet  had  provided 
not  only  a  couple  of  men  as  guides  to  the  field  where 
Lawrence  was  working,  but  also  a  tent,  provisions, 
and  blankets,  should  occasion  arise  for  their  use. 

Beth  was  informed  by  her  fiance  that  word  had 
arrived  from  her  brother,  to  whom  Searle  said  he 
meant  to  go.  The  business  of  buying  Glenmore's 
mine,  he  said,  required  unexpected  dispatch.  Per 
haps  both  he  and  Glen  might  return  by  the  end  of 
the  week. 

By  that  morning's  train  the  body  of  Culver  was 
shipped  away — and  the  camp  began  to  forget  him. 
The  sheriff  was  after  Cayuse. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  the  body  of  the  girl  who 
had  never  been  known  in  Goldite  by  any  name  save 
that  of  Queenie,  was  buried  on  a  hillside,  already 
called  into  requisition  as  a  final  resting  place  for 
such  as  succumbed  in  the  mining-camp,  too  far  from 

183 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

friends,  or  too  far  lost,  to  be  carried  to  the  world 
outside  the  mountains.  Half  a  dozen  women  at 
tended  the  somewhat  meager  rites.  There  was  one 
mourner  only — the  man  who  had  run  to  summon 
Van,  and  who  later  had  waited  by  the  door. 

At  four  o'clock  the  Goldite  News  appeared  upon 
the  streets.  It  contained  much  original  matter — 
or  so  at  least  it  claimed.  The  account  of  the  murder 
of  Culver,  the  death  of  Queenie,  and  the  threatened 
lynching  of  Van  Buren  made  a  highly  sensational 
story.  It  was  given  the  prominent  place,  for  the 
editor  was  proud  to  have  made  it  so  full  in  a  time 
that  he  deemed  rather  short.  On  a  second  page  was 
a  tale  less  tragic. 

It  was,  according  to  one  of  its  many  sub-headings, 
"  A  Humorous  Outcrop  concerning  two  Maids  and 
a  Man."  It  related,  with  many  gay  sallies  of  "  wit," 
how  Van  had  piloted  Mr.  J.  Searle  Bostwick  into 
the  hands  of  the  convicts,  recently  escaped,  packed 
off  his  charges,  Miss  Beth  Kent  and  her  maid,  and 
brought  them  to  Goldite  by  way  of  the  Monte  Cristo 
mine,  in  time  to  behold  the  discomfited  entrance 
of  the  said  J.  Searle  Bostwick  in  prisoner's  attire. 
Mr.  Bostwick  was  described  as  having  been  "  on  his 
ear  "  towards  Van  Buren  ever  since. 

In  the  main  the  account  was  fairly  accurate. 
Gettysburg,  Napoleon,  and  old  Dave  had  over-talked, 
during  certain  liquifying  processes.  The  matter 
was  out  beyond  repair. 

Mrs.  Dick  was  prompt  in  pouncing  on  the  story, 

184 


Beth's  Desperation 

hence  Beth  was  soon  presented  with  a  copy.  In 
the  natural  annoyance  she  felt  when  it  was  read,  there 
was  one  consolation,  at  least:  Searle  was  away,  to 
be  gone  perhaps  two  or  three  days.  He  might  not 
see  the  article,  which  would  soon  be  forgotten  in 
the  camp. 

To  culminate  the  day's  events,  that  evening  Elsa 
ran  away.  She  went  with  a  "  gentleman  "  lodger, 
taking  the  slight  precaution  to  be  married  by  the 
Justice  of  the  Peace. 

Beth  discovered  her  loss  too  late  to  interfere.  She 
felt  herself  alone,  indeed,  with  Bostwick  away,  her 
brother  off  in  the  desert,  and  Van — she  refused  to 
think  of  Van.  Fortunately,  Mrs.  Dick  was  more 
than  merely  a  friend.  She  was  a  staunch  little 
warrior,  protecting  the  champion,  to  anger  whom  was 
unhealthy.  Despite  the  landlady's  attitude  of  friend 
liness,  however,  Beth  felt  wretchedly  alone.  It  was 
a  terrible  place.  She  was  cooped  up  all  day  within 
the  lodging  house,  since  the  street  full  of  men  was 
more  than  she  cared  to  encounter;  and  with  life  all 
about  her,  and  wonderful  days  spreading  one  after 
another  across  the  wide-open  land,  her  liberties  were 
fairly  in  a  cage. 

From  time  to  time  she  thought  of  the  horse,  await 
ing  her  order  at  the  hay-yard.  She  tried  to  con 
vince  herself  she  would  never  accept  or  ride  the 
animal.  She  was  certain  she  resented  everything 
Van  had  done.  She  felt  the  warmest  indignation 
at  herself  for  breaking  into  bits  of  song,  for  glowing 

185 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

to  the  tips  of  her  ears,  for  letting  her  heart  leap 
wildly  in  her  breast  whenever  she  thought  of  the 
horseman. 

Two  days  went  by  and  she  chafed  under  continued 
restraints.  No  word  had  come  from  Bostwick,  none 
from  Glen — and  not  a  sign  from  the  "Laughing 
Water  "  claim.  From  the  latter  she  said  to  herself 
she  wished  no  sign.  But  Searle  had  no  right  to 
leave  her  thus  and  neglect  her  in  every  respect. 

The  morning  of  the  third  long  day  Mrs.  Dick 
brought  her  two  thin  letters.  One  had  been  mailed 
in  Goldite,  by  a  messenger  down  from  the  "  Laugh 
ing  Water  "  claim.  It  came  from  Van.  He  had 
written  the  briefest  of  notes: 

"  Just  to  send  my  love.  I  want  you  to  wear  my 
nugget." 

Folded  into  the  paper  was  a  spray  of  the  wild 
peach  bloom. 

Beth  tried  to  think  her  blushes  were  those  of  in 
dignation,  which  likewise  caused  the  beat  of  her  heart 
to  rise.  But  her  hand  fluttered  prettily  up  to  her 
breast,  where  the  nugget  was  pinned  inside  her  waist. 
Also  his  letter  must  have  been  hard  to  understand 
— she  read  it  seventeen  times. 

Then  she  presently  turned  to  the  other.  It  was 
addressed  in  typewritten  characters,  but  the  writing 
inside  she  knew — her  brother  Glen's. 

"  Dear  Old  Sis :  Say,  what  in  the  dickens  are 
you  doing  out  here  in  the  mines,  by  all  that's  holey? 
— and  what's  all  this  story  in  the  Goldite  News  about 

186 


Beth' s  Desperation 

one  Bronson  Van  Buren  doing  the  benevolent  brigand 
stunt  with  you  and  jour  maid,  and  shunting  Searle 
off  with  the  Cons?  Why  couldn't  you  let  a  grubber 
know  you  were  hiking  out  here  to  the  desert?  Why 
all  this  elaborate  surprise — this  newspaper  wireless 
to  your  fond  and  lonesome? 

"  What's  the  matter  with  your  writing  hand?  Is 
this  Van-brigand  holding  them  both?  What's  the 
matter  with  Searle?  I  wrote  him  two  or  three 
aeons  ago,  when  he  might  have  been  of  assistance. 
Now  I'm  doing  my  eight  hours  a  day  in  an  effort 
to  sink  down  to  China.  I'm  on  the  blink,  in  a  way, 
but  not  for  long,  for  this  is  the  land  where  oppor 
tunity  walks  night  and  day  to  thump  on  your  door 
— and  I'll  grab  her  by  the  draperies  yet. 

"  But  me! — working  as  a  common  miner ! — though 
I've  got  a  few  days  off  to  go  and  look  at  a  claim 
with  a  friend  of  mine,  so  you  needn't  answer  till 
you  hear  again. 

"  If  Searle  is  dead,  why  don't  he  say  so?  I  only 
touched  him  for  a  few  odd  dollars — I  only  needed 
a  grub-stake — fifty  would  have  done  the  trick — and 
he  doesn't  come  through.  And  nobody  writes.  I 
guess  it's  me  for  the  Prodigal,  but  when  I  do  get 
next  to  the  fatted  calf  I'll  get  inside  and  eat  my 
way  out  by  way  of  his  hoofs  and  horns.  Why 
couldn't  you  and  Searle  and  the  maid  come  down 
and  have  a  look  at  me — working?  It's  worth  it. 
Come  on.  Maybe  it's  easier  than  writing.  Yours 
for  the  rights  of  labor,  GLEN." 

Astonished  by  the  contents  of  this  communication, 
Beth  read  it  again,  in  no  little  bewilderment,  to 
make  sure  she  had  made  no  mistake.  No  letter  from 
herself?  No  word  from  Searle?  No  answer  to 

187 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

Glen's  request  for  money?  And  he  had  only  asked 
for  a  "  few  odd  dollars  ?  "  There  must  be  some 
thing  wrong.  He  had  sent  the  most  urgent  require 
ment  for  sixty  thousand  dollars.  And  she  herself 
had  written,  at  once.  Searle  had  assured  her  he 
had  sent  him  word  by  special  messenger.  Starlight 
was  less  than  a  long  day's  ride  away.  Glen  had 
already  had  time  to  see  that  account  in  the  paper 
and  write. 

She  had  no  suspicions  of  Bostwick.  She  had  seen 
Glen's  letter  and  read  it  for  herself.  And  Searle 
had  responded  immediately  with  an  offer  to  lend  her 
brother  thirty  thousand  dollars.  There  must  be 
some  mistake.  Glen  might  be  keeping  his  news 
and  plans  from  herself,  as  men  so  often  will.  Searle 
might  even  have  overlooked  the  importance  of  keep 
ing  Glen  fully  posted,  intending  to  go  so  soon  to 
Starlight.  Her  own  letter  might  have  miscarried. 

She  tried  to  fashion  explanations — but  they  would 
not  entirely  fit.  Searle  had  been  gone  three  days. 
He  had  gone  before  the  Goldite  News  was  issued. 
The  paper  had  arrived  at  Glen's  while  the  man  in 
his  car  had  failed. 

For  a  moment  she  sickened  with  the  reflection 
that  Searle  might  once  more  have  fallen  captive  to 
the  convicts,  still  at  large — and  with  all  the  money ! 
Then  she  presently  assured  herself  that  news  so 
sinister  as  this  would  have  been  very  prompt  to 
return. 
«  It  was  all  too  much  to  understand — unless  Glen 

188 


Beth 's  Desperation 

were  ill — or  out  of  his  reason.  His  two  letters, 
the  one  to  Searle  and  this  one  to  herself,  were  so 
utterly  conflicting.  It  was  not  to  be  solved  from 
such  a  distance.  Moreover,  Glen  wrote  that  he 
was  off  on  a  trip,  and  asked  her  to  wait  before  reply 
ing.  It  was  irritating,  all  this  waiting,  alone  here 
in  Goldite,  but  there  seemed  to  be  nothing  else  to  do. 

The  long  morning  passed,  and  she  fretted.  In  the 
afternoon  the  Goldite  News  broke  its  record.  It 
printed  an  extra — a  single  sheet,  in  glaring  type, 
announcing  the  capture  of  the  convicts.  By  a  bold 
and  daring  coup,  it  said,  the  entire  herd  of  criminals, 
all  half  starved  and  weakened  by  privations,  had 
been  rounded  up  and  transported  back  to  prison. 
Unfortunately,  the  report  was  slightly  inaccurate. 
Matt  Barger,  the  leader  in  the  prison  delivery,  and 
the  most  desperate  man  in  the  lot,  had  escaped  the 
posse's  vigilance.  Of  this  important  factor  in  the 
welcome  story  of  the  posse's  work  Goldite  was  igno 
rant,  and  doomed  to  be  in  ignorance  a  week. 

The  news  to  Beth  was  a  source  of  great  relief. 
But  her  troubles  in  other  directions  were  fated  to 
increase.  That  evening  three  men  called  formally — 
formally,  that  is  to  say,  in  so  far  as  dressing  in 
their  best  was  concerned  and  putting  on  their  "  com 
pany  manners."  But  Beth  and  courtship  were  their 
objects,  a  fact  that  developed  somewhat  crudely  with 
the  smallest  possible  delay. 

One  of  these  persons,  Billy  Stitts  by  name,  was 
fairly  unobjectionable  as  a  human  being,  since  he 

189 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

was  a  quaint,  slow-witted,  bird-like  little  creature, 
fully  sixty  years  of  age  and  clearly  harmless.  The 
others  were  as  frankly  in  pursuit  of  a  mate  as  any 
two  mountain  animals. 

Beth  was  frightened,  when  the  purport  of  their 
visit  flashed  upon  her.  She  felt  a  certain  sense  of 
helplessness.  Mrs.  Dick  was  too  busy  to  be  con 
stantly  present ;  Elsa  was  gone ;  the  ways  of  such 
a  place  were  new  and  wholly  alarming.  She  felt 
when  she  made  her  escape  from  the  three  that  her 
safety  was  by  no  means  assured.  Her  room  was 
her  only  retreat.  Except  for  Mrs.  Dick,  there  was 
not  another  woman  in  the  house.  She  was  wholly 
surrounded  by  men — a  rough,  womanless  lot  whose 
excitements,  passions,  and  emotions  were  subjected 
to  changes  constantly,  as  well  as  to  heats,  by  the 
life  all  around  them  in  the  mines. 

That  night  was  her  first  of  real  terror.  Every 
noise  in  the  building,  and  some  in  the  streets,  made 
her  start  awake  like  a  hunted  doe,  with  imaginings 
of  the  most  awful  description.  She  scarcely  slept 
at  all. 

The  following  day  old  Billy  Stitts  called  again, 
very  shortly  after  breakfast.  He  proved  such  an 
amiable,  womanly  old  chap  that  he  was  almost  a 
comfort  to  the  girl.  She  sent  him  to  the  postoffice, 
for  a  possible  letter  from  Glen.  He  went  with 
all  the  pleasure  and  alacrity  of  a  faithful  dog,  apol 
ogizing  most  exuberantly  on  his  return  for  the  fact 
that  no  letter  had  come. 

190 


Beth's  Desperation 

She  remained  in  the  house  all  day.  The  afternoon 
brought  the  two  rough  suitors  of  the  night  before, 
and  two  more  equally  crude.  Mrs.  Dick,  to  Beth's 
intense  uneasiness,  regarded  the  matter  as  one  to 
be  expected,  and  quite  in  accord  with  reason  and 
proper  regulations.  A  good-looking  girl  in  camp, 
with  her  men-folks  all  giving  her  the  go-by — and 
what  could  you  expect?  Moreover,  as  some  of  these 
would-be  courtiers  were  husky  and  in  line  for  for 
tune's  smile,  with  chances  as  good  as  any  other 
man's,  she  might  do  worse  than  let  them  come,  and 
hear  what  they  had  to  say.  It  was  no  girl's  need 
to  be  neglected  as  Searle  and  Van  were  patently 
neglecting  Beth. 

This  was  the  stage  in  which  Beth  at  length  began 
to  meditate  on  Spartan  remedies.  The  situation  was 
not  to  be  endured.  No  word  had  come  from  Searle. 
The  world  might  have  swallowed  him  up.  She  was 
sick  of  him — sick  of  his  ways  of  neglect.  And  as 
for  Van 

There  was  no  one  to  whom  she  could  turn — unless  it 
were  Glen.  If  only  she  could  flee  to  her  brother!  She 
thought  about  it  earnestly.  She  tried  to  plan  the  way. 

Her  horse  was  at  the  hay-yard.  Starlight  was 
only  one  day  off  in  the  desert.  The  convicts  were 
no  longer  about.  If  only  she  could  ride  there — 
even  alone !  An  early  start — a  little  urging  of  the 
pony — she  could  fancy  the  journey  accomplished 
with  the  utmost  ease;  then  scornful  defiance,  both 
of  Bostwick  and  of  Van. 

191 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

But  a  woman — riding  in  this  lawless  land  alone ! 
She  was  utterly  disheartened,  disillusionized  at  the 
thought.  It  would  be  no  less  than  madness.  And 
yet,  it  seemed  as  if  she  must  presently  go.  Searle's 
silence,  coupled  to  conditions  here,  was  absolutely 
intolerable. 

With  plans  decidedly  hazy — nothing  but  a  wild, 
bright  dream  really  clear — she  questioned  Billy  Stitts 
concerning  the  roads.  He  was  familiar  with  every 
route  in  miles,  whether  roadway,  trail,  or  "  course 
by  compass,"  as  he  termed  trackless  cruising  in  the 
desert.  He  gave  her  directions  with  the  utmost 
minutas  of  detail  as  to  every  highway  to  Starlight. 
He  drew  her  a  plan.  She  was  sure  that  she  could 
almost  ride  to  Starlight  in  the  dark.  What  branches 
of  the  road  to  shun,  which  trails  to  choose,  possibly, 
for  gaining  time,  what  places  to  water  a  famishing 
horse — all  these  and  more  she  learned  with  feverish 
interest. 

"  Now  a  man  would  do  this,"  and  "  a  man  would 
do  that,"  said  Billy  time  after  time,  till  a  new,  fan 
tastic  notion  came  bounding  full-fledged  into  Beth's 
anxious  brain  and  almost  made  her  laugh  with  de 
light.  She  could  dress  as  a  man  and  ride  as  a  man 
and  be  absolutely  safe  on  the  journey!  She  knew  a 
dozen  unusual  arts  for  dying  the  skin  and  concealing 
the  hair  and  making  the  hands  look  rough.  Make 
up  in  private  theatricals,  at  professional  hands,  she 
had  learned  with  exceptional  thoroughness. 

She  would  need  a  suit  of  kahki,  miners'  books,  a 

192 


Beth' s  Desperation 

soft,  big  hat,  and  flannel  shirt.  They  were  all  to 
be  had  at  the  store.  She  could  order  her  horse 
to  be  saddled  for  a  man.  She  could  readily  dress 
and  escape  unseen  from  the  house.  In  a  word,  she 
could  do  the  trick! 

The  plan  possessed  her  utterly.  It  sent  her  blood 
bounding  through  her  veins.  Her  face  was  flushed 
with  excitement.  She  loved  adventure — and  this 
would  be  something  to  do ! 

Nevertheless,  despite  all  her  plans,  she  had  no  real 
intention  of  attempting  a  scheme  so  mad.  Sub 
consciously  she  confessed  to  herself  it  was  just  the 
merest  idle  fancy,  not  a  thing  to  be  actually  ventured, 
or  even  entertained. 

That  night,  when  she  was  more  beset,  more  worried 
than  before,  however,  desperation  was  increasing 
upon  her.  The  plan  she  had  made  no  longer  seemed 
the  mere  caprice  of  one  in  pursuit  of  pleasure — 
it  appeared  to  be  the  only  possible  respite  from  con 
ditions  no  longer  to  be  borne. 

When  the  morning  came,  after  a  night  of  mental 
torture  and  bodily  fear,  her  patience  had  been  strained 
to  the  point  of  breaking,  and  resolve  was  steeling  her 
courage. 

The  word  that  should  have  come  from  Searle  was 
still  delinquent.  But  old  Billy  Stitts  brought  her 
a  letter  from  Glen. 

"  Dear  Sis :  I  can  only  write  a  line  or  two.  Had 
a  thump  on  the  head,  but  it  didn't  knock  off  my 
block.  Don't  worry.  All  right  in  a  few  days,  sure. 

193 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

Guess  you  couldn't  come,  or  you'd  be  here,  in  re 
sponse  to  my  last.  But  Searle  might  show  up,  any 
how.  You  can  write  me  now.  Hope  you're  well 
and  happy.  Is  the  brigand  still  on  the  job?  Can't 
really  write.  With  love,  GLEN." 

Her  heart  stood  still  as  she  read  her  brother's 
lines,  in  a  scrawled  hand  indicative  of  weakness.  She 
resolved  in  that  instant  to  go. 

"  Mr.  Stitts,"  she  said  in  remarkable  calm,  for 
all  that  she  felt,  "  my  brother  needs  some  clothing — 
everything  complete,  boots,  shirts,  and  all.  He's 
just  about  my  size.  I  wish  you'd  go  and  buy  them." 

"  Lord,  I  know  the  best  and  the  cheapest  in 
camp !  "  said  Billy  eagerly.  "  I'll  have  'em  here  be 
fore  you  can  write  him  your  letter — but  the  stage 
don't  go  back  till  Friday." 

She  had  given  no  thought  to  the  tri-weekly  stage. 
She  dismissed  it  now,  with  a  wave  of  gratitude  to 
wards  Van  for  the  horse — gratitude,  or  something, 
surging  warmly  in  her  veins.  She  almost  wished 
he  could  ride  at  her  side,  but  checked  that  lawless 
ness  sternly.  She  would  ride  to  Glen  alone ! 


194 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

A  BLIZZARD  OF  DUST 

AT  daylight  Beth  was  dressed  as  a  man  and  sur 
veying  herself  in  the  mirror.  She  had  passed  a 
sleepless  night.  She  was  fevered,  excited,  and 
nervous. 

Her  work  had  been  admirably  done.  She  looked 
no  more  rawly  new  or  youthful  than  scores  of  young 
tenderfeet,  daily  in  the  streets  of  the  camp.  The 
stain  on  her  face  had  furnished  an  astonishing  dis 
guise,  supported  as  it  was  by  male  attire.  Her  hair 
was  all  up  in  the  crown  of  her  hat,  which  was  set 
on  the  back  of  her  head.  It  was  fastened,  more 
over,  with  pins  concealed  beneath  the  leather  band. 
Altogether  the  disguise  was  most  successful.  Beth 
had  disappeared:  a  handsome  young  man  had  been 
conjured  in  her  place. 

Her  mare,  which  Billy  had  ordered,  came  promptly 
to  the  door.  She  heard  her  arrive — and  her  heart 
stroked  more  madly  than  before.  Trembling  in 
every  limb,  and  treading  as  softly  as  a  thief,  she 
made  her  way  downstairs. 

On  the  dining-room  table  was  the  package  of 
lunch  that  Mrs.  Dick  had  agreed  to  prepare.  Beth 
had  told  her  she  meant  to  take  an  early  morning  ride 

195 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

and  might  not  be  back  in  time  for  breakfast.  With 
this  bundle  in  hand  she  went  out  at  the  door,  her 
courage  all  but  failing  at  thought  of  the  man  with 
the  horse  at  the  threshold.  She  shrank  from  being 
seen  in  such  an  outfit. 

It  was  too  late  now  to  retreat,  however,  she  told 
herself  bravely,  and  out  she  went. 

"  Say,  git  a  move,  young  feller,"  said  the  hostler 
with  her  pony.  "  I  ain't  got  time  to  play  horse- 
post  here  all  day." 

"  Thank  you  for  being  so  prompt,"  said  Beth,  in 
a  voice  that  was  faint,  despite  her  efforts  to  be  mascu 
line,  and  she  gave  him  a  coin. 

"  I'll  tie  that  there  bundle  on  behind,"  he  volun 
teered,  less  gruffly,  and  Beth  was  glad  of  his  assist 
ance. 

A  moment  later  she  took  a  gasp  of  breath  and 
mounted  to  the  seat.  Collapse  of  all  the  project  had 
seemed  imminent,  but  an  actual  feeling  of  relief  and 
security  ensued  when  she  was  settled  in  the  saddle. 

"  So  long,"  said  the  hostler,  and  Beth  responded 
manfully,  "  So  long." 

She  rode  out  slowly,  towards  the  one  main  road. 
A  feeling  of  the  morning's  chill  assailed  her,  making 
her  shiver.  The  noise  of  her  pony's  hoof-beats 
seemed  alarmingly  resonant. 

But  nothing  happened.  The  streets  were  deserted, 
save  for  a  few  half -drunken  wanderers,  headed  for 
the  nearest  saloon.  On  the  far-off  peaks  of  the 
mountains  the  rosy  light  of  sunrise  faintly  appeared. 

196 


A  Blizzard  of  Dust 

In  the  calm  of  the  great  barren  spaces,  even  Goldite 
was  beautiful  at  last. 

A  sense  of  exhilaration  pervaded  Beth's  youthful 
being.  She  was  glad  of  what  she  had  done.  It 
was  joyous,  it  was  splendid,  this  absolute  freedom 
in  all  this  stern  old  world! 

The  road  wound  crookedly  up  a  hill,  as  it  left  the 
streets  of  the  town  behind.  The  scattered  tents 
extended  for  a  mile  in  this  direction,  the  squares  of 
silent  canvas,  like  so  many  dice,  cast  on  the  slopes 
by  a  careless  fate  that  had  cast  man  with  them  in 
the  struggle. 

Beth  and  her  pony  finally  topped  the  hill,  to  be 
met  by  a  sea  of  mountains  out  beyond.  Up  and 
down  these  mighty  billows  of  the  earth  the  highway 
meandered,  leading  onward  and  southward  through 
the  desert. 

The  mare  was  urged  to  a  gallop,  down  an  easy 
slope,  then  once  more  she  walked  as  before.  All 
the  mountains  in  the  west  were  rosy  now,  till  presently 
the  sun  was  up,  a  golden  coin,  struck  hot  from  the 
very  mints  of  God,  giving  one  more  day  with  its 
glory. 

Its  very  first  rays  seemed  a  comfort,  suggesting 
a  welcome  warmth.  Beth  could  have  called  out  songs 
of  gladness  well  nigh  uncontainable.  She  had  all 
the  big  world  to  herself.  Even  the  strangely  twisted 
clouds  in  the  sky  seemed  made  for  her  delight.  They 
were  rare  in  this  wonderful  dome  of  blue  and  there 
fore  things  of  beauty. 

197 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

For  an  hour  or  more  her  way  was  plain,  and  to 
ride  was  a  god-like  privilege.  Her  ease  of  mind 
was  thoroughly  established.  What  had  been  the 
necessity  for  all  those  qualms  of  fear?  The  matter 
was  simple,  after  all. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  before  she  ate  her  breakfast. 
She  had  come  to  the  so-called  river,  the  only  one 
in  perhaps  a  hundred  miles.  It  was  quite  a  respect 
able  stream  at  this  particular  season,  but  spread 
very  thinly  and  widely  at  the  ford. 

By  noon  she  was  half  way  of  her  distance.  The 
sun  was  hot ;  summer  baking  of  the  desert  had  begun. 
Her  mare  was  sweating  profusely.  She  had  urged 
her  to  the  top  of  her  strength.  Nevertheless  she 
was  still  in  excellent  condition.  To  the  westward 
the  sky  was  overcast  in  a  manner  such  as  Beth  had 
never  seen,  with  a  dark,  copperous  storm-head  that 
massed  itself  prodigiously  above  the  range. 

Already  she  had  come  to  three  branchings  of  the 
road  and  chosen  her  way  in  confidence,  according  to 
Billy  Stitt's  directions.  When  she  came  to  a  fourth, 
where  none  had  been  indicated,  she  was  sure,  either 
in  Billy's  instructions,  or  upon  his  drawing,  she  con 
fessed  herself  somewhat  uncertain.  She  halted  and 
felt  for  the  map. 

It  was  not  to  be  found.  She  had  left  it  behind 
at  Mrs.  Dick's.  Dimly  she  fancied  she  remembered 
that  Billy  had  said  on  the  fourth  branch,  keep  to 
the  right.  There  could  be  no  doubt  that  this  branch 
was  the  fourth,  howsoever  out  of  place  it  appeared. 

198 


A  Blizzard  of  Dust 

She  rode  to  the  right,  and,  having  passed  a  little 
valley,  found  herself  enfolded  in  a  rolling  barrier  of 
hills  where  it  seemed  as  if  the  sun  and  rocks  were 
of  almost  equal  heat. 

At  mid-afternoon  Beth  abruptly  halted  her  pony 
and  stared  at  the  world  of  desert  mountains  in  con 
fusion  not  unmixed  with  alarm.  She  was  out  at  the 
center  of  a  vast  level  place,  almost  entirely  devoid 
of  vegetation — and  the  road  had  all  but  disappeared. 
It  branched  once  more,  and  neither  fork  was  at  all 
well  defined,  despite  the  fact  that  travel  to  Starlight 
was  supposed  to  be  reasonably  heavy.  She  had  made 
some  mistake.  She  suddenly  remembered  something 
that  Billy  had  said  concerning  a  table  mountain  she 
should  have  passed  no  later  than  half -past  one.  It 
had  not  been  seen  along  her  way.  She  was  tired. 
Weariness  and  the  heat  had  broken  down  a  little  of 
the  bright,  joyous  spirit  of  the  morning.  A  heart- 
sinking  came  upon  her.  She  must  turn  and  ride 
back  to — she  knew  not  which  of  the  branches  of  the 
road,  any  one  of  which  might  have  been  wrongly 
selected. 

Her  mare  could  not  be  hurried  now;  she  must 
last  to  get  her  to  Starlight.  To  add  to  other  trifles 
of  the  moment,  the  bank  of  cloud,  so  long  hung 
motionless  above  the  western  summits,  moved  out 
across  the  path  of  the  sun  and  blotted  out  its 
glory  with  a  density  that  would  have  seemed  impos 
sible. 

Scarcely  had  Beth  fairly  turned  her  back  to  the 

199 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

west  when  a  wind  storm  swooped  upon  the  desert. 
It  came  as  a  good  stiff  breeze,  at  first,  flecking  up  but 
little  of  the  dust.  Then  a  sudden,  ominous  change 
occurred.  All  the  blue  of  the  sky  was  overwhelmed, 
under  a  sudden  expansion  of  the  copperous  clouds. 
An  eclipse-like  darkness  enveloped  the  world,  till  the 
farthest  mountains  disappeared  and  the  near-by 
ranges  seemed  to  magnify  themselves  as  they  blended 
with  the  sky. 

With  a  sound  as  of  an  on-rushing  cataclysm  the 
actual  storm,  cyclonic  in  all  but  the  rotary  motion, 
came  beating  down  upon  the  startled  earth  like  a 
falling  wall  of  air. 

In  less  than  two  minutes  the  world,  the  atmosphere, 
everything  had  ceased  to  be.  It  was  a  universe 
of  dust  and  sand,  hurtling — God  knew  whither. 

In  the  suddenness  of  the  storm's  descent  upon  her, 
Beth  became  speechless  with  dismay.  Her  mare 
dropped  her  head  and  slowly  continued  to  walk. 
Road,  hills,  desert — all  had  disappeared.  To  go 
onward  was  madness ;  to  remain  seemed  certain  death. 
Despair  and  horror  together  gripped  Beth  by  the 
heart.  There  was  nothing  in  the  world  she  could 
do  but  to  close  her  eyes  and  double  low  above  the 
saddle,  her  hat  bent  down  to  shield  her  face. 

At  the  end  of  a  few  minutes  only  the  frightfulness 
of  the  thing  could  no  longer  be  endured.  Beth 
had  been  all  but  torn  from  her  seat  by  the  sheer 
weight  and  impact  of  the  wind.  All  the  world  was 
roaring  prodigiously.  The  sand  and  dust,  driving 

200 


A  Blizzard  of  Dust 

with  unimaginable  velocity,  smoked  past  in  blinding 
fury. 

The  mare  had  ceased  to  move.  Beth  was  aware 
of  her  inertia,  dimly.  She  remembered  at  last  to 
dismount  and  stand  in  the  animal's  shelter.  At  length 
on  the  raging  and  roaring  of  the  air-sea,  crashing 
onward  in  its  tidal  might,  came  a  fearful  additional 
sound.  It  was  rushing  onward  towards  the  girl 
with  a  speed  incredible — a  sound  of  shrieking,  or 
whistling,  that  changed  to  a  swishing  as  if  of  pinions, 
Titanic  in  size,  where  some  monstrous  winged  god  was 
blown  against  his  will  in  a  headlong  course  through 
the  tumult. 

Then  the  something  went  by — the  whole  roof  of 
a  house — from  twenty  miles  away.  It  scraped  in 
the  earth,  not  ten  feet  off  from  where  the  pony 
stood — and  she  bolted  and  ran  for  her  life. 

Down  went  Beth,  knocked  over  by  the  mare.  With 
a  hideous  crash  the  flying  roof  was  hurled  against  a 
nearby  pinnacle  of  rock.  The  wooden  wings  split 
upon  the  immovable  obstruction,  and  on  they  went  as 
before. 

The  pony  had  disappeared,  in  panic  that  nothing 
could  have  allayed.  The  storm-pall  swallowed  her 
instantly.  Beth  could  not  have  seen  her  had  she 
halted  a  rod  away.  Her  eyes  had  been  opened  for 
half  a  moment  only  before  she  was  flung  to  the 
earth.  She  was  rolling  now,  and  for  the  moment 
was  utterly  powerless  to  rise  or  to  halt  her  locomo 
tion. 

201 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

When  she  presently  grasped  at  a  little  gray  shrub, 
came  to  a  halt,  and  tried  to  stand  erect,  she  was 
buffeted  bodily  along  by  the  wind  with  no  strength 
in  her  limbs  to  resist. 

She  was  blown  to  the  big  rock  pinnacle  on  which 
the  roof  had  been  divided.  An  eddy  twisted  her 
rudely  around  to  the  shelter,  and  she  flung  herself 
down  upon  the  earth. 


202 


CHAPTER  XXV 

A    TIMELY    DELIVERANCE 

How  long  she  lay  there  Beth  could  never  have 
known.  It  seemed  a  time  interminable,  with  the 
horror  of  the  storm  in  all  the  universe.  It  was  cer 
tainly  more  than  an  hour  before  the  end  began  to 
come.  Then  clouds  and  the  blizzard  of  sand  and 
dust,  together  with  all  the  mighty  roaring,  appeared 
to  be  hurled  across  the  firmament  by  the  final  gust 
of  fury  and  swept  from  the  visible  world  into  outer 
space. 

Only  a  brisk  half-gale  remained  in  the  wake  of 
the  huger  disturbance.  The  sky  and  atmosphere 
cleared  together.  The  sun  shone  forth  as  before — 
but  low  to  the  mountain  horizon.  When  even  the 
clean  wind  too  had  gone,  trailing  behind  its  lawless 
brother,  the  desert  calm  became  as  absolute  as  Beth 
had  beheld  it  in  the  morning. 

She  crept  from  her  shelter  and  looked  about  the 
plain.  Her  eyes  were  red  and  smarting.  She  was 
dusted  through  and  through.  In  all  the  broad, 
gray  expanse  there  was  not  a  sign  of  anything  alive. 
Her  mare  had  vanished.  Beth  was  lost  in  the  desert, 
and  night  was  fast  descending. 

Deliverance  from  the  storm,  or  perhaps  the  storm's 

203 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

very  rage,  had  brought  her  a  species  of  calm.  The 
fear  she  had  was  a  dull,  persistent  dread — an  all- 
pervading  horror  of  her  situation,  too  large  to  be 
acute.  Nevertheless,  she  determined  to  seek  for  the 
road  with  all  possible  haste  and  make  her  way  on 
foot,  as  far  as  possible,  towards  the  Starlight  high 
way  and  its  possible  traffic. 

She  was  stiff  from  her  ride  and  her  cramped  posi 
tion  on  the  earth.  She  started  off  somewhat  help 
lessly,  where  she  felt  the  road  must  be. 

She  found  no  road.  Her  direction  may  have  been 
wrong.  Possibly  the  storm  of  wind  had  swept  away 
the  wagon  tracks,  for  they  had  all  been  faint.  It 
had  been  but  half  a  road  at  best  for  several  miles. 
Her  heart  sank  utterly.  She  became  confused  as  to 
which  way  she  had  traveled.  Towards  a  pass  in 
the  hills  whence  she  felt  she  must  have  come  she  has 
tened  with  a  new  accession  of  alarm. 

She  was  presently  convinced  that  she  had  chosen 
entirely  wrong.  A  realizing  sense  that  she  was  hope 
lessly  mixed  assailed  her  crushingly.  To  turn  in 
any  direction  might  be  a  grave  mistake.  But  to 
stand  here  and  wait — do  nothing — with  the  sun  going 
down — this  was  preposterous — suicidal !  She  must 
go  on — somewhere!  She  must  find  the  road!  She 
must  keep  on  moving — till  the  end!  Till  the  end! 
How  terrible  that  thought  appeared,  in  such  a  situa 
tion  ! 

She  almost  ran,  straight  onward  towards  the  hills. 
Out  of  breath  very  soon,  she  walked  with  all  possible 

204- 


A  Timely  Deliverance 

haste  and  eagerness,  all  the  time  looking  for  the 
road  she  had  left,  which  the  storm  might  have  wiped 
from  the  desert.  She  was  certain  now  that  the 
mountains  towards  which  she  was  fleeing  were  away 
from  the  Goldite  direction. 

Once  more  she  changed  her  course.  She  realized 
then  that  such  efforts  as  these  must  soon  defeat  them 
selves.  At  least  she  must  stick  to  one  direction — 
go  on  in  a  line  as  straight  as  possible,  till  she  came 
to  something!  Yet  if  she  chose  her  direction  wrong 
and  went  miles  away  from  anything 

She  had  to  go  on.  She  had  to  take  the  chance. 
She  plodded  southwestward  doggedly,  for  perhaps 
a  mile,  then  halted  at  something  like  a  distant  sound, 
and  peered  towards  the  shadows  of  the  sunset. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  seen.  A  hope  which  had! 
risen  for  a  moment  in  her  breast,  at  thought  of 
possible  deliverance,  sank  down  in  collapse,  and  left 
her  more  faint  than  before.  The  sun  was  at  the 
very  rim  of  the  world.  Its  edge  began  to  melt  its 
way  downward  into  all  the  solid  bulk  of  mountains. 
It  would  soon  be  gone.  Darkness  would  ensue.  The 
moon  would  be  very  late,  if  indeed  it  came  at  all. 
Wild  animals  would  issue  from  their  dens  of  hiding, 
to  prowl  in  search  of  food.  Perhaps  the  sound  she 
heard  had  been  made  by  an  early  night-brute  of  the 
desert,  already  roving  for  his  prey ! 

Once  more  she  went  on,  desperately,  almost  blindly. 
To  keep  on  going,  that  was  the  one  essential!  She 
had  proceeded  no  more  than  a  few  rods,  however, 

205 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

when  she  heard  that  sound  again — this  time  more  like 
a  shout. 

Her  heart  pounded  heavily  and  rapidly.  She 
shaded  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  against  the  last, 
slanted  sun-rays,  and  fancied  she  discerned  some 
thing,  far  off  there  westward,  in  the  purples  flung 
eastward  by  the  mountains.  Then  the  last  bit  of 
all  that  molten  disk  of  gold  disappeared  in  the  sum 
mits,  and  with  its  going  she  beheld  a  horseman,  rid 
ing  at  a  gallop  towards  herself. 

The  relief  she  felt  was  almost  overwhelming — till 
thoughts  of  such  an  encounter  came  to  modify  her 
joy.  She  was  only  an  unprotected  girl — yet — she 
had  no  appearance  of  a  woman !  This  must  be  her 
safeguard,  should  this  man  now  approaching  prove 
some  rough,  lawless  being  of  the  mines. 

She  stood  perfectly  still  and  waited.  A  man  would 
have  hurried  forward  to  meet  this  deliverance,  so 
unexpectedly  vouchsafed.  But  she  was  too  excited, 
too  uncertain — too  much  of  a  girl.  Then  pres 
ently,  when  the  horseman  was  still  a  hundred  yards 
away,  her  heart  abruptly  turned  over  in  her 
bosom. 

The  man  on  the  horse  was  Van.  She  knew  him — 
knew  that  impudent  pose,  that  careless  grace  and 
oneness  with  his  broncho !  She  did  not  know  he 
was  chasing  that  flying  roof  which  had  frightened 
her  horse  from  her  side;  that  he  had  bought  an  old 
cabin,  far  from  his  claim,  to  move  it  to  the  "  Laugh 
ing  Water  "  ground — only  to  see  it  wrenched  from 

206 


A  Timely  Deliverance 

his  hold  by  the  mighty  gale  and  flung  across  the 
world.  She  knew  nothing  of  this,  but  she  suddenly 
knew  how  glad  was  her  whole  tingling  being,  how 
bounding  was  the  blood  in  her  veins !  And  she  also 
knew,  abruptly,  that  now  if  ever  she  must  play  the 
man.  She  had  all  but  forgotten  she  was  angry  with 
Van.  That,  and  a  hundred  reasons  more,  made  it 
absolutely  imperative  now  that  he  should  not  know 
her  for  herself ! 

She  made  a  somewhat  wild  attempt  at  a  toilet  of 
her  hair — in  case  the  wind  had  ripped  the  tell-tale 
strands  from  beneath  her  hat.  Then  with  utter 
faintness  in  her  being,  and  weakness  in  her  knees,  she 
prepared  to  give  him  reception. 

He  had  slowed  his  horse  to  a  walk.  He  rode  up 
deliberately,  scrutinizing  in  obvious  puzzlement  the 
figure  before  him  in  the  sand. 

"  Hullo,"  he  said,  while  still  a  rod  away,  "  what  in 
blazes  are  you  doing  here,  man — are  you  lost  ?  " 

Beth  nodded.  "  I'm  afraid  I  am."  Her  utter 
ance  was  decidedly  girlish,  and  quavering. 

"  Lost  your  voice  somewhere,  too,  I  reckon,"  said 
Van.  "  Where  are  you  going?  Where  are  you 
from?" 

"  Starlight,"  answered  Beth,  at  a  loss  for  a  better 
reply,  and  making  an  effort  to  deepen  her  tones  as 
she  talked.  "I  lost  my  horse  in  the  storm." 

Van  looked  around  the  valley. 

"Did,  hey?  Didn't  happen  to  see  a  stray  roof, 
anywhere,  did  you?  I  lost  one." 

207 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"  I — haven't  seen  anything,"  faltered  Beth,  whose 
only  wish  was  to  have  him  say  something  about  her 
escape  from  this  terrible  place.  "  But  something 
frightened  my  pony." 

"  I  was  curious  to  see  how  far  that  roof  would 
hike,  that's  all,"  he  told  her  by  way  of  explanation 
of  his  presence  here  on  his  horse,  and  he  turned  to 
look  at  her  again.  "  Didn't  you  know  this  so-called 
cut-off  to  Starlight  would  take  you  more  time  than 
the  road?" 

"  No,  I— I  didn't  know  it,"  said  Beth,  afraid  he 
must  presently  penetrate  her  masquerade  if  he  looked 
like  that  upon  her.  "  What  do  you  advise  me  to 
do?" 

He  ignored  her  question,  demanding: 

"  Say,  is  your  name  Kent? — Glenmore  Kent?  " 

Beth  felt  her  heart  begin  new  gymnastics.  This 
was  her  cue. 

"  Why,  yes.  But — how  did  you  know — know 
me?" 

"  I've  met  your  sister,  in  Goldite.  You  can't  get 
to  Starlight  to-night." 

She  had  passed  muster !  A  herd  of  wild  emotions 
were  upon  her.  But  first  here  was  her  predicament 
— and  what  he  said  was  not  at  all  reassuring.  Cer 
tain  alarms  that  his  coming  had  banished  returned  in 
a  vague  array. 

She  showed  her  dread  in  her  eyes.  "  Perhaps  I 
could  get  to  Goldite." 

"  How?  "       He   was   half   unconsciously   patting 

208 


Beth  felt  her  heart  begin  new  gymnastics. 


Page  208 


A  Timely  Deliverance 

Suvy,  the  horse,  whose  ecstasy  thereat  was  not  to  be 
concealed. 

Beth  knew  not  how.  She  wished  Van  would  cease 
that  study  of  her  face.  Perhaps  she  could  think 
more  clearly. 

"Why — I  suppose  I  could  walk — if  I  knew  the 
way,"  she  said.  "  Is  it  very  far?  I  admit  I'm  be 
wildered.  I  was  lost." 

"  It  would  be  a  long  ride,"  he  told  her.  "  A  lost 
man  is  hopeless.  I  couldn't  even  show  you  the 
way  so  you  could  keep  it — especially  at  night." 

New  fears  came  surging  upon  her  in  all  their 
force  and  numbers. 

"  But— what  shall  I  do?  " 

Van  reflected. 

"  My  claim  is  the  nearest  camp  from  here,  since 
the  wind  took  down  that  shack.  And  that  was  aban 
doned  anyway.  Can  you  hike  some  twenty-odd 
miles?" 

Twenty-odd  miles! — on  foot!  For  a  second  she 
was  almost  tempted  to  disclose  herself,  and  beg  him 
for  something  a  trifle  more  sympathetic  than  what 
he  seemed  to  be  offering  another  fellow  man.  But 
that  could  not  be  done.  And  night  was  descending 
rapidly.  The  twilight  was  brief — and  on  the  wane. 

"  Why — perhaps  so,"  she  answered,  attempting 
to  smile.  "  I'll  try." 

Something  in  her  smile  went  straight  to  his  heart 
— he  wondered  why.  To  feel  as  he  did  towards  this 
unknown  man,  even  the  brother  of  the  girl  he  madly 

209 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

loved — this  was  certainly  absurd.  It  was  not  to 
be  explained;  it  was  simply  upon  him,  that  was 
enough.  He  dismounted. 

"  Here,  get  on  my  horse  and  ride.  I  want  to 
walk  and  stretch  my  legs." 

Beth  all  but  gasped.  She! — ride  on  Suvyl — the 
horse  she  had  seen  so  nearly  kill  this  man ! — a  horse 
that  might  perhaps  permit  no  other  living  thing 
upon  his  back!  Yet  she  knew  not  how  to  refuse — 
and  to  walk  very  far  would  be  impossible. 

"I'm — afraid  I'm  a  very  poor  horseman,"  she  ad 
mitted  guardedly.  "  If  your  pony  should  hap 
pen " 

Van  had  thought  that  Suvy  might  resent  a 
stranger's  liberties.  He  turned  to  the  broncho  pecu 
liarly. 

"  How  about  it,  boy?  "  he  asked  the  horse  gravely. 
"I  want  you  to  stand  for  it,  savvy?"  He  looked 
at  the  animal  inquiringly.  How  he  knew  that  Suvy 
consented  was  only  for  him  to  comprehend.  He 
squared  about  to  Beth,  who  was  watching  with  won 
der,  and  something  far  softer,  in  her  heart.  "  Get 
on,"  he  said.  "  He  was  raised  as  a  cradle  for 
babies." 

Beth  was  pale,  but  she  had  to  be  a  man.  She 
stepped  to  the  broncho's  side  and  mounted  to  the 
saddle.  Suvy  trembled  in  every  sinew  of  his  being. 

Van  gave  him  a  pat  on  the  neck  again,  turned  his 
back  and  started  straight  northward.  The  pony  fol 
lowed  at  his  heels  like  a  dog  with  a  master  he  loves. 

210 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE    NIGHT    IN    THE    DESERT 

AT  ten  o'clock  that  night  the  moon  had  not  yet 
risen.  Its  glow  was  on  the  eastern  sky,  however, 
and  at  length  it  appeared,  a  broken  orb  with  its 
waning  side  lopped  from  its  bulk. 

Beth  was  still  in  the  saddle.  She  was  utterly 
exhausted;  she  could  scarcely  remain  in  her  seat. 
For  more  than  an  hour  Van  had  plodded  onward 
without  even  turning  to  speak.  They  had  talked 
intermittently,  and  he  had  told  her  his  name.  Far 
off  in  the  dimness  of  the  desert  level — the  floor  of 
a  second  mighty  valley — a  lone  coyote  began  his 
dismal  howling.  Beth,  on  the  horse,  felt  a  chill  go 
down  her  spine.  Van  seemed  not  to  hear.  The 
howl  was  repeated  from  time  to  time  intermittently, 
like  the  wail  of  a  ghost,  forever  lost  to  hope. 

When  the  moon  at  last  shone  fairly  on  the  broncho 
and  the  girl,  Van  cast  a  glance  at  her  face.  He 
was  startled.  The  young  rider  looked  so  much  like 
Beth — and  looked  so  utterly  tired! 

Van  halted,  and  so  did  the  pony.  The  man  looked 
up  at  his  companion. 

"  You're  in  no  fit  condition  to  go  on,"  he  said. 
"What's  the  use  of  our  trying  to  make  it?  To 

211 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

camp  right  here  is  as  good  as  going  on  all  night, 
which  don't  suit  my  legs  worth  a  cent." 

Beth  was  wearied  almost  to  collapse.  But — to 
camp  out  here — all  night ! — they  two  !  Aside  from 
the  terrors  that  had  crept  to  her  soul  at  sound  of 
the  distant  coyote,  this  present  aspect  of  the  situa 
tion  was  appalling.  Indeed,  she  began  to  see  that 
whether  they  went  on  or  remained,  she  must  spend 
the  night  in  this  man's  company. 

She  was  almost  too  tired  to  care  how  such  a  thing 
would  appear.  He  thought  her  a  man— it  had  been 
inescapable — there  was  nothing  she  could  do  to  pre 
vent  the  course  of  events.  And  come  what  might 
she  must  presently  slip  from  that  saddle,  in  her  weak 
ness,  faintness,  and  hunger,  if  the  penalty  were  all 
but  life  itself. 

"  I'm — sure  I  can  walk — and  let  you  ride,"  she 
said.  "  I'd  like  to  go  on,  but  I  know  I  can't  sit 
here  any  longer." 

She  tried  to  dismount  by  herself — as  any  man 
must  do.  In  her  stiffness  she  practically  fell  from 
the  saddle,  sinking  on  her  side  upon  the  ground. 
Only  for  a  second  was  she  prostrate  thus  at  his  feet, 
but  her  coat  fell  back  from  her  kahki  vest — and  a 
gleam  of  the  moonlight  fell  upon  a  bright  little  ob 
ject,  pinned  above  her  heart. 

Van  beheld  it — and  knew  what  it  was — his  nugget, 
washed  from  the  "  Laughing  Water "  claim ! 

The  truth  seemed  to  pour  upon  him  like  the  waters 
of  an  all-engulfing  wave — the  overwhelming,  wonder- 

212 


The  Night  in  the  Desert 

ful  truth  that  was  also  almost  terrible,  in  what  it 
might  mean  to  them  both. 

There  was  one  thing  only  the  man  could  do — 
ignore  this  fact  that  he  had  discovered  and  treat 
her  like  a  man.  This  he  knew  instantly.  He  turned 
with  a  man's  indifference  to  one  of  his  sex  and  vaulted 
to  Suvy's  back. 

"  Come  on,"  he  said,  "  if  you're  anxious  to  get 
under  cover." 

He  could  trust  himself  to  say  no  more.  He  rode 
ahead. 

Beth  did  her  best  to  follow,  and  make  no  com 
plaint.  The  broncho,  however,  was  a  rapid  walker. 
This  she  had  not  realized  while  Van  was  striding 
on  in  the  lead.  She  fell  behind  repeatedly,  and  Van 
was  obliged  to  halt  his  horse  and  wait.  She  began 
to  be  lame.  It  had  been  a  torture  to  ride;  it  was 
agony  to  walk. 

Van  now  became  strangely  urgent.  He  had  never 
loved  her  more.  His  love  had  taken  on  a  sacredness, 
out  here  in  the  night,  with  Beth  so  weary  and  help 
less.  More  than  anything  he  had  ever  desired  in 
his  life  he  wished  to  keep  her  sacred — spared  from 
such  a  complication  as  their  night  out  here  alone 
might  engender. 

Yet  he  saw  the  first  little  limp  when  she  began  to 
falter.  He  was  watching  backward  constantly,  his 
whole  nature  eager  to  protect  her — save  her  from 
hurt,  from  this  merciless  toil  across  the  desert.  He 
longed  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  carry  her  thus, 

213 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

securely.  He  was  torn  between  the  wish  to  hasten 
her  along,  for  her  own  greater  ease  of  mind,  and 
the  impulse  to  halt  this  hardship.  He  knew  not 
what  to  do. 

They  had  gone  much  less  than  a  mile  when  he 
brought  up  his  pony  at  her  side. 

"  Here,  Kent,"  he  said,  "  you  walk  like  a  bride 
groom  going  up  the  aisle.  You'll  have  to  get  up 
here  and  ride."  He  dismounted  actively. 

Beth  could  have  dropped  in  her  tracks  for  weari 
ness.  She  was  tired  to  the  marrow  of  her  bones. 

"  I  can't,"  she  answered.  "  Perhaps — we'd  better 
camp."  A  hot  flush  rushed  upward  to  her  very 
scalp,  fortunately,  however,  unseen. 

Van  regarded  her  sternly. 

"  I've  changed  my  mind.  I  haven't  time  to  camp 
out  here  to-night.  You'll  have  to  ride." 

It  seemed  to  Beth  that,  had  it  been  to  save  her 
life,  she  could  scarcely  have  climbed  to  that  saddle. 
To  remain  on  the  horse  would,  she  knew,  be  far 
beyond  her  strength.  She  continued  on  her  feet 
only  by  the  utmost  exertion  of  her  will.  Someway 
since  Van  had  found  her  in  this  dreadful  place  she 
had  lost  strength  rapidly — perhaps  for  the  leaning  on 
him.  With  Van's  ultimatum  now  to  confront,  she 
could  summon  no  nerve  or  resolution. 

Her  face  paled.  "  You'd  better  go  on,  if  you 
have  to  be  at  your  claim,"  she  said,  aware  that  she 
could  offer  no  argument,  no  alternative  plan  to 
his  wish  for  an  onward  march.  "  I'm — not 

214- 


The  Night  in  the  Desert 

used  to  riding — much.  I  can't  ride  any  more  to 
night." 

He  knew  she  told  the  truth,  knew  how  gladly  she 
would  have  continued  riding,  knew  what  a  plight 
of  collapse  she  must  be  approaching  to  submit  to 
a  thought  of  remaining  here  till  morning.  He  could 
not  go  and  leave  her  here.  The  thought  of  it  aroused 
him  to  something  like  anger.  He  realized  the  neces 
sity  of  assuming  a  rougher  demeanor. 

"  Damn  it,  Kent,"  he  said,  "  you're  no  less  lost 
than  you  were  before.  You  know  I  can't  go  off 
and  leave  you.  And  I  want  to  get  ahead." 

She  only  knew  she  could  not  ride,  come  what 
might. 

66  You  didn't  say  so,  a  little  while  ago,"  she  ven 
tured,  half  imploringly.  "  I'm  sorry  I'm  so  nearly 
dead.  If  you  must  go  on " 

That  cut  him  to  the  heart.  How  could  he  be  a 
brute? 

"  I  ought  to  go  ! "  he  broke  in  unguardedly.  "  I 
mean  I've  got  to  think — I've  got  work  to  do  in  the 
morning.  Don't  you  suppose  you  could  try?" 

The  moonlight  was  full  on  his  face.  All  the 
laughter  she  knew  so  well  had  disappeared  from  his 
eyes.  In  its  place  she  saw  such  a  look  of  yearning 
and  worry — such  a  tenderness  of  love  as  no  woman 
ever  yet  saw  and  failed  to  comprehend.  She  divined 
in  that  second  that  he  knew  who  she  was — she  felt 
it,  through  all  her  sense  of  intuition  and  the  fiber 
of  her  soul.  She  understood  his  insistence  on  the 

215 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

march,  the  saving  march,  straight  onward  without 
a  halt.  She  loved  him  for  it.  She  had  loved  him 
with  wild  intensity,  confessed  at  last  to  herself,  ever 
since  the  moment  he  had  appeared  in  the  desert  to 
save  her. 

If  a  certain  reckless  abandon  to  this  love  rocked 
her  splendid  self-control,  it  was  only  because  she 
was  so  utterly  exhausted.  Her  judgment  was  sound, 
unshaken.  Nevertheless,  despite  judgment  and  all 
— to  go  on  was  out  of  the  question.  God  had  flung 
them  out  here  together,  she  thought,  for  better  or 
for  worse.  That  Van  would  be  the  fine  chivalrous 
gentleman  she  had  felt  him  to  be  at  the  very  first 
moment  of  their  accidental  acquaintance,  she  felt 
absolutely  assured.  She  accepted  a  certain  inevita 
ble  fatality  in  the  situation — perhaps  the  more  read 
ily  now  that  she  knew  he  knew,  for  she  seemed  so 
much  more  secure. 

His  question  remained  unanswered  while  she 
thought  of  a  thousand  things.  Could  she  try  to 
go  on? 

She  shook  her  head.  "What's  the  use  of  my 
riding — perhaps  another  mile?  You  might  go  on 
and  send  a  man  to  guide  me  in  the  morning." 

What  an  effort  it  cost  her  to  make  such  a  harsh 
suggestion  not  even  Van  could  know.  A  terrible 
fear  possessed  her  that  he  might  really  act  upon  her 
word.  To  have  him  stay  was  bad  enough,  but  to 
have  him  go  would  be  terrible. 

"Hell!"  he  said,  keeping  up  his  acting.      "You 

216 


The  Niglit  in  the  Desert 

talk  like  a  woman.  Haven't  I  wasted  time  enough 
already  without  sending  someone  out  here  to-morrow 
morning?  What  makes  you  think  you're  worth  it?  " 
He  turned  his  back  upon  her,  hung  the  stirrup  of 
the  saddle  on  the  horn,  and  began  to  loosen  the  cinch. 

Like  the  woman  that  she  was,  she  enjoyed  his 
roughness,  his  impudence,  and  candor.  It  meant 
so  much,  in  such  a  time  as  this.  After  a  moment 
she  asked  him: 

"  What  do  you  mean  to  do?  " 

He  hauled  off  the  saddle  and  dropped  it  to  the 
ground. 

"  Make  up  the  berths,"  he  answered.  "  Here's 
your  bedding."  He  tossed  the  blanket  down  at  her 
feet.  It  was  warm  and  moist  from  Suvy's  body. 
He  then  uncoiled  his  long  lasso,  secured  an  end 
around  the  pony's  neck,  and  bade  him  walk  away 
and  roll. 

The  broncho  obeyed  willingly,  as  if  he  understood. 
Van  took  up  the  saddle,  carried  it  off  a  bit,  and 
dropped  it  as  before. 

Beth  still  remained  there,  with  the  blanket  at  her 
feet. 

Van  addressed  her.      "  Got  any  matches  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  said.      "  I'm  afraid " 

"  Neither  have  I,"  he  interrupted.  "  No  fire  in 
the  dressing-room.  Good-night.  No  need  to  set 
the  alarm  clock.  I'll  wake  you  bright  and  early." 
Once  more  he  took  up  his  saddle  and  started  off 
in  the  ankle-high  brush  of  the  plain. 

217 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

Beth  watched  him  with  many  misgivings  at  her 
heart. 

"  Where — where  are  you  going?  "  she  called. 

"  To  bed,"  he  called  in  response.  u  Want  room 
to  kick  around,  if  I  get  restless." 

She  understood — but  it  was  hard  to  bear,  to  be 
left  so  alone  as  this,  in  such  a  place.  He  went  need 
lessly  far,  she  was  sure. 

Grateful  to  him,  but  alarmed,  made  weaker  again 
by  having  thus  to  make  her  couch  so  far  from  any 
protection,  she  continued  to  stand  there,  watching 
him  depart.  He  stooped  at  last,  and  his  pony  halted 
near  him,  like  a  faithful  being  who  must  needs  keep 
him  always  in  sight.  Even  the  pony  would  have 
been  some  company  for  Beth,  but  when  Van  stretched 
himself  down  upon  the  earth,  with  the  saddle  for 
a  pillow,  she  felt  horribly  alone. 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  make  the  best 
of  what  the  fates  allowed.  She  curled  herself  down 
on  the  chilly  sand  with  the  blanket  tucked  fairly  well 
around  her.  But  she  did  not  sleep.  She  was  far 
too  tired  and  alarmed. 

Half  an  hour  later  three  coyotes  began  a  fearsome 
serenade.  Beth  sat  up  abruptly,  as  terrified  as 
if  she  had  been  but  a  child.  She  endured  it  for 
nearly  five  minutes,  hearing  it  come  closer  all  the 
while.  Then  she  could  bear  it  no  more.  She  rose 
to  her  feet,  caught  up  her  blanket,  and  almost  ran 
towards  the  pony.  More  softly  then  she  approached 
the  place  where  Van  lay  full  length  upon  the  ground. 

218 


The  Night  in  the  Desert 

She  beheld  him  in  the  moonlight,  apparently  sound 
asleep. 

As  closely  as  she  dared  she  crept,  and  once  more 
made  her  bed  upon  the  sand.  There,  in  a  child 
like  sense  of  security,  with  her  fearless  protector  near, 
she  listened  in  a  hazy  way  to  the  prowling  beasts, 
now  cruising  away  to  the  south,  and  so  profoundly 
slept. 

Van  had  heard  her  come.  Into  his  heart  snuggled 
such  a  warmth  and  holy  joy  as  few  men  are  given 
to  feel.  He,  too,  went  to  sleep,  thinking  of  his 
nugget  on  her  breast. 


219 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

TALL  STORIES 

DAYLIGHT  had  barely  broadened  into  morning 
when  Van  was  astir  from  his  bed.  The  air  was 
chill  and  wonderfully  clean.  Above  the  eastern  rim 
of  hills  the  sun  was  ready  to  appear. 

Beth  still  lay  deep  in  slumber.  She  had  curled 
up  like  a  child  in  her  meager  covering.  Van  watched 
her  from  his  distance.  A  little  shiver  passed  through 
her  form,  from  time  to  time.  Her  hat  was  still 
in  place,  but  how  girlish,  how  sweet,  how  helpless 
was  her  face — the  little  he  could  see !  How  he  wished 
he  might  permit  her  to  sleep  it  out  as  nature  de 
manded.  For  her  own  sake,  not  for  his,  he  must 
hasten  her  onward  to  Goldite,  by  way  of  the  "  Laugh 
ing  Water  "  claim. 

He  walked  off  eastward  where  a  natural  furrow 
made  a  deep  depression  in  the  valley.  His  pony 
followed,  the  lasso  dragging  in  the  sand.  Once 
over  at  the  furrow  edge,  the  man  took  out  his  pistol 
and  fired  it  off  in  the  air. 

Beth  was  duly  aroused.  Van  saw  her  leap  to 
her  feet,  then  he  disappeared  in  the  hollow,  with 
his  broncho  at  his  heels. 

220 


Tall  Stories 

The  girl  was,  if  possible,  stiffer  than  before.  But 
she  was  much  refreshed.  For  a  moment  she  feared 
Van  was  deserting,  till  she  noted  his  saddle,  near 
at  hand.  Then  he  presently  emerged  upon  the  level 
of  the  plain  and  returned  to  the  site  of  their  camp. 

"  First  call  for  breakfast  in  the  dining-car,"  he 
said.  "  We  can  make  it  by  half-past  eight." 

"  If  only  we  could  have  a  cup  of  good  hot  coffee 
first,  before  we  start,"  said  Beth,  and  she  smiled  at  the 
vainness  of  the  thought. 

"  We  won't  get  good  coffee  at  the  claim,"  Van 
assured  her  dryly.  "  But  near-coffee  would  lure  me 
out  of  this." 

He  was  rapidly  adjusting  the  blanket  and  saddle 
on  his  horse. 

"You'll  have  to  ride  or  we  can't  make  speed," 
he  added.  "  As  a  walker  you're  sure  the  limited." 

She  appreciated  thoroughly  the  delicacy  with 
which  he  meant  to  continue  the  fiction  of  her  sex. 
But  he  certainly  was  frank. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  answered  amusedly.  "  I'd  do 
better,  perhaps,  if  I  weren't  so  over-burdened  with 
flattery." 

"  You'll  have  to  do  better,  anyhow,"  he  observed, 
concluding  preparations  with  Suvy.  "  There  you 
are.  Get  on.  Father  Time  with  hobbles  on  could 
beat  us  getting  a  move." 

He  started  off,  leaving  her  to  mount  by  herself. 
She  managed  the  matter  somewhat  stiffly,  suppress 
ing  a  groan  at  the  effort,  and  then  for  an  hour  she 

221 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

was  gently  pummeled  into  limberness  as  the  pony 
followed  Van. 

They  came  at  the  end  of  that  time  to  one  of  the 
upper  reaches  of  that  same  river  she  had  forded 
the  previous  day.  To  all  appearances  the  wide 
shallow  bed  was  a  counterpart  of  the  one  over  which 
her  horse  had  waded.  But  the  trail  turned  sharply 
down  the  stream,  and  followed  along  its  bank. 

They  had  halted  for  the  pony  to  drink.  Van 
also  refreshed  himself  and  Beth  dismounted  to  lie 
flat  down  and  quench  her  long,  trying  thirst. 

u  Right  across  there,  high  up  in  the  hills,  is  the 
6  Laughing  Water '  claim,"  said  Van,  pointing  north 
eastward  towards  the  mountains.  "  Only  three  miles 
away,  if  we  could  fly,  but  six  as  we  have  to  go 
around." 

"And  why  do  we  have  to  go  around?"  Beth  in 
quired.  "  Aren't  we  going  to  cross  the  river  here?  " 

"  Looks  like  a  river,  I  admit,"  he  said,  eying 
the  placid  stream.  "  That's  a  graveyard  there — 
quicksand  all  the  way  across." 

Beth's  heart  felt  a  shock  at  the  thought  of  what 
could  occur  to  a  traveler  here,  unacquainted  with 
the  treacherous  waters. 

"  Good  gracious !  "  she  said.  She  added  gener 
ously  :  "  Couldn't  I  walk  a  little  now,  and — share 
the  horse?" 

"  When  you  walk  it  gets  on  Suvy's  nerves  to  try 
to  keep  step,"  he  answered.  "  Fall  in." 

They  went  two  miles  down  the  river,  then  across 

222 


Tall  Stories 

on  a  rock-and-gravel  bottom,  at  a  ford  directly  op 
posite  a  jagged  rift  in  the  mountains.  This  chasm, 
which  was  short  and  steep,  they  traversed  perspir- 
ingly.  The  sun  was  getting  warm.  Beyond  them 
then  the  way  was  all  a  rough,  hard  climb,  over 
ridges,  down  through  canyons,  around  huge  dykes 
of  rock  and  past  innumerable  foldings  of  the  range. 
How  Van  knew  the  way  was  more  than  Beth  could 
understand.  She  was  already  growing  wearied  anew, 
since  the  night  had  afforded  her  very  little  rest,  and 
she  had  not  eaten  for  nearly  a  day. 

Van  knew  she  was  in  no  condition  for  the  ride. 
He  was  watching  her  constantly,  rejoicing  in  her 
spirit,  but  aching  for  her  aches.  He  set  a  faster 
pace  for  the  broncho  to  follow,  to  end  the  climb  as 
soon  as  possible. 

At  length,  below  a  rounded  ridge,  where  stunted 
evergreens  made  a  welcome  bit  of  greenery,  he  came 
to  a  halt. 

"We're  almost  there,"  he  said.  "You'll  have 
to  remain  at  the  claim  till  somewhere  near  noon, 
then  I'll  show  you  the  way  down  to  Goldite." 

"Till  noon?"  She  looked  at  him  steadily,  a 
light  of  worry  in  her  eyes  as  she  thought  of  arriving 
so  late  at  Mrs.  Dick's,  with  what  consequences — the 
Lord  alone  knew. 

"  I  can't  get  away  much  earlier,"  he  said,  and  to 
this,  by  way  of  acting  his  part,  he  added:  "Do  you 
want  to  wear  me  out?  " 

She  knew  what  he  meant.      He  would  wait  till 

223 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

noon  to  give  her  time  to  rest.  She  would  need  all 
the  rest  he  could  make  possible.  And  then  he  would 
only  "  show  her  the  way  to  Goldite."  He  would 
not  ride  with  her  to  town.  She  might  yet  escape 
the  compromising  plight  into  which  she  had  been 
thrust.  His  thoughtfulness,  it  seemed,  could  have 
no  end. 

"  Very  well,"  she  murmured.  "  I'm  sorry  to  have 
made  you  all  this  trouble."  She  was  not — some- 
ways;  she  was  lawlessly,  inordinately  glad. 

The  "  trouble  "  for  Van  had  been  the  most  precious 
experience  in  all  his  life. 

"  It  has  been  one  wild  spasm  of  delight,"  he  said 
in  his  dryest  manner  of  sarcasm.  "  But  between  us, 
Kent,  I'm  glad  it's  no  continuous  performance." 

He  went  over  the  ridge,  she  following.  A  moment 
later  they  were  looking  down  upon  the  "  Laughing 
Water "  claim  from  that  self-same  eminence  from 
which  Searle  Bostwick  had  seen  it  when  he  rode  one 
day  from  the  Indian  reservation. 

"This,"  said  Van,  "  is  home." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  girl,  and  tears  sprang  into  her 
eyes. 

And  a  very  home,  indeed,  it  presently  seemed, 
when  they  came  to  the  shack,  where  Gettysburg, 
Napoleon,  old  Dave,  and  even  Algy,  the  Chinese 
cook,  came  forth  to  give  them  cordial  welcome. 

Beth  was  introduced  to  all  as  Glenmore  Kent — 
and  passed  inspection. 

"Brother  of  Miss  Beth  Kent,"  said  Van,  "who 

224 


Tall  Stones 

honored  us  once  with  a  visit  to  the  Monte  Cristo 
fiasco.  He's  been  lost  on  the  desert  and  he's  too 
done  up  to  talk,  so  I  want  him  to  be  fed  and  enter 
tained.  And  of  the  two  requirements,  the  feed's 
more  important  than  the  vaudeville  show,  unless  your 
stunts  can  put  a  man  to  sleep." 

Algy  and  Gettysburg  got  the  impromptu  break 
fast  together.  The  placer  sluices  outside  were  neg 
lected.  Nobody  wished  to  shovel  sand  for  gold  when 
marvelous  tales  might  be  exchanged  concerning  the 
wind  storm  that  had  raged  across  the  hills  the  day 
before. 

Indeed,  as  Van  and  Beth  sat  together  at  the  board, 
regaling  themselves  like  the  two  famished  beings  they 
were,  their  three  entertainers  proceeded  to  liberate 
some  of  the  tallest  stories  concerning  storms  that 
mortal  ever  heard. 

Napoleon  and  Gettysburg  became  the  hottest  of 
rivals  in  an  effort  to  deliver  something  good.  Gettys 
burg  furnished  a  tale  of  a  breeze  in  the  unpeopled 
wilds  of  Nebraska  where  two  men's  farms,  fully 
twenty  miles  apart,  had  undergone  an  astounding 
experience  whereby  a  complete  exchange  of  their 
houses,  barns,  and  sheds  had  been  effected  by  a  cy 
clone,  without  the  slightest  important  damage  to 
the  structures. 

When  this  was  concluded,  Napoleon  looked  pained. 

"  I  think  you  lie,  Gett — metaphorical  speakin' ! " 
he  hastened  to  add.  "  But  shiver  my  bowsprit  if 
I  didn't  see  a  ship,  once,  ten  days  overdue,  jest 

225 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

snatched  up  and  bio  wed  into  port  two  days  ahead 
of  time,  and  never  touched  nothing  all  the  way. 
I  remember  the  year  'cause  that  was  the  winter  ma 
had  twins  and  pa  had  guinea  pigs." 

"  Wai,"  drawled  Dave,  who  had  all  this  time  main 
tained  a  dignified  silence,  "  I've  saw  some  wind,  in 
my  time,  but  only  one  that  was  really  a  leetle  mite 
too  obstreperous.  Yep,  that  was  a  pretty  good 
blow — the  only  wind  I  ever  seen  which  blew  an  iron 
loggin'  chain  off  the  fence,  link  by  link." 

Napoleon  paid  Dave  a  compliment.  He  said: 
"  You  old  son  of  a  gun !  " 

Van  thought  the  storms  had  raged  sufficiently. 

"  Is  work  unpopular,  or  did  the  wind  blow  the 
water  from  the  creek?  " 

"  I  like  to  work,"  admitted  Gettysburg,  "but  it's 
fun  to  watch  you  epicures  eatin'." 

Beth  felt  embarrassed. 

"  Epicures  ?  "  echoed  Napoleon.  "  You  don't 
know  what  an  epicure  is?  That's  a  vulgar  remark 
when  you  don't  know  no  meaning  of  a  word." 

"  Epicure?  Me  not  know  what  an  epicure  is?  " 
replied  old  Gettysburg  aggressively.  "  You  bet  I 
do.  An  epicure's  a  feller  which  chaws  his  fodder 
before  he  swallers  it." 

Napoleon  subsided.  Then  he  arose  and  sauntered 
out  to  work,  Dave  and  Gettysburg  following.  Van 
hastily  drank  his  cup  of  coffee,  which,  as  he  had 
predicted,  was  not  particularly  good,  and  started 
for  the  others.  He  halted  in  the  door. 

226 


Tall  Stories 

"  Make  yourself  comfortable,  if  you  can  here, 
Kent,"  he  said.  "  You  had  an  exhausting  experi 
ence  yesterday.  Perhaps  you  had  better  lie  down." 

Beth  merely  said :  "  Thank  you."  But  her  smile 
was  more  radiant  than  sunshine. 


227 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

WORK    AND    SONG 

HAVING  presently  finished  her  breakfast,  Beth 
joined  the  group  outside,  curious  to  behold  the  work 
ings  of  a  placer  mine  in  actual  operation. 

There  was  not  much  to  see,  but  it  was  picturesque. 
In  their  lack  of  funds  the  partners  had  constructed 
the  simplest  known  device  for  collecting  the  gold 
from  the  sand.  They  had  built  a  line  of  sluices,  or 
troughs  of  considerable  length,  propped  on  stilts,  or 
supports  about  knee  high,  along  the  old  bed  of  the 
canyon.  The  sluices  were  mere  square  flumes,  set 
with  a  fairly  rapid  grade. 

Across  the  bottom  of  all  this  flume,  at  every  yard 
or  less  of  its  length,  small  wooden  cleats  had  been 
nailed,  to  form  the  "  riffles."  Into  the  boxes  the 
water  from  the  creek  was  turned,  at  the  top.  The 
men  then  shoveled  the  sand  in  the  running  stream 
and  away  it  went,  sluicing  along  the  water-chute,  its 
particles  rattling  down  the  wooden  stairway  noisily. 
The  gold  was  expected  to  settled  behind  the  riffles, 
owing  to  its  weight. 

All  the  flume-way  dripped  from  leakages.  The 
sun  beat  down  upon  the  place  unshaded.  Water 

228 


Work  and  Song 

escaped  into  all  the  pits  the  men  were  digging  as 
they  worked,  so  that  they  slopped  around  in  mud 
above  their  ankles.  Dave  wore  rubber  boots  and 
was  apparently  protected.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
the  boots  promptly  filled  with  water.  Napoleon 
and  Gettysburg  made  no  effort  to  remain  dry  shod, 
but  puddled  all  day  with  soused  footgear. 

Van  rode  off  to  the  "  reservation  town,"  a  mile 
below  the  hill,  to  bargain  for  a  tent  reported  there 
for  sale.  Sleeping  quarters  here  on  the  claim  were 
far  too  crowded.  Until  lumber  for  a  cabin  could 
be  purchased  they  must  make  what  shifts  they  might. 

It  had  taken  but  the  briefest  time  for  the  miners 
to  go  at  their  work.  Beth  stood  near,  watching 
the  process  with  the  keenest  interest.  It  seemed 
to  her  a  back-breaking,  strenuous  labor.  These 
sturdy  old  fellows,  grown  gray  and  stooped  with 
toil — grown  also  expectant  of  hardship,  ill-luck,  and 
privations — were  pathetic  figures,  despite  their  ways 
of  cheer. 

That  Van  had  attached  them  to  himself  in  a  large 
ness  of  heart  by  no  means  warranted  by  their  worth 
was  a  conviction  at  which  anyone  must  promptly 
arrive.  They  were  lovable  old  scamps,  faithful, 
honest,  and  loyal  to  the  man  they  loved — but  that 
was  all  that  could  be  stated.  Perhaps  it  was  enough. 
As  partners  with  whom  to  share  both  life  and  for 
tune  they  might  have  seemed  impossible  to  many 
discerning  men. 

Beth  sat  down  on  a  rock,  near  Gettysburg.    Some- 

229 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

way  she,  too,  liked  the  three  old  chaps  of  whom  work 
had  made  three  trademarks.  Old  Gettysburg  began 
to  sing.  The  words  of  his  song,  halted  by  grunts  as 
he  shoveled,  were,  to  say  the  least,  unexpected: 

The  frog  he  swore  he'd  have  a  ride, 

(Shovel) 

With  a  rinktum  bolly  kimo; 
Sword  and  pistols  by  his  side, 

(Shovel) 

With  a  rinktum  bolly  kimo. 
For  lunch  he  packed  a  beetle  bug, 

(Shovel) 

With  a  rinktum  bolly  kimo; 
Tucked  inside  his  tummy  snug, 

(Shovel) 
With  a  rinktum  bolly  kimo. 

Kimo,  karo,  gilto,  garo, 
Kimo,  bolly  mitty  kimo. 

(Shovel) 

Shing-shang  hammyriddle,  allibony,  ringtang, 
Folderolli  bolly  mitty  kimo. 

(Three  shovelings  and  some  meditation) 

The  frog  he  rode  a  slimy  eel, 

(Shovel) 

With  a  rinktum  bolly  kimo. 
The  sun  made  his  complexion  peel, 

(Shovel) 

With  a  rinktum  bolly  kimo. 
The  frog's  legs  went  to  join  a  fry, 

(Shovel) 

With  a  rinktum  bolly  kimo. 
The  eel  became  a  juicy  pie, 

(Shovel) 
With  a  rinktum  bolly  kimo. 

(Chorus) 

Napoleon  looked  up  at  the  end  of  the  song  and 
spat  upon  his  hands. 

"  Gett,"  he  said  placidly,  "  I  think  that's  a  lie- 
metaphorical  speakin'.  Ain't  mad,  are  you  ?  " 

230 


Work  and  Song 

Gettysburg  made  no  response.  He  merely  shov 
eled. 

One  of  the  sluices,  weakened  by  a  leak  that  had 
undermined  its  pinning,  fell  from  place,  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  line.  Old  Dave  went  down  to  repair  it. 
Napoleon  took  advantage  of  his  absence  to  come 
to  Beth,  with  an  air  of  imparting  something  con 
fidential. 

"  Splice  my  main  brace,"  said  he,  with  his  head  on 
one  side,  quaintly,  "  wasn't  that  a  blasphermous  yarn 
old  Dave  was  givin'  us  about  the  wind  blowing  that  log 
chain  away  a  link  at  a  time?  Old  son  of  a  gun !  " 

Beth  was  inquisitive. 

"  Why  do  you  call  him  a  son  of  a  gun  ?  " 

Napoleon  scratched  his  head. 

"  Well,  you  see,  Dave's  mother  held  up  his  father 
with  a  Colt  forty-five  and  makes  him  marry  her. 
Then  along  comes  Dave.  I  reckon  that  makes  him 
a  sure  enough  son  of  a  gun." 

Beth  said:  "Oh."      She  turned  a  little  red. 

"  Yep,  good  old  cuss,  Dave  is,  though.  No  good 
for  a  seafearing  man,  however.  He  could  never 
learn  to  swear — he  ain't  got  no  ear  for  music." 

He  returned  to  his  shovel.  He  and  Gettysburg 
worked  in  silence  for  fifteen  minutes.  Old  Dave 
returned  and  joined  them.  Gettysburg  tuned  up 
for  another  of  his  songs,  the  burden  of  which  was 
the  tale  of  a  hen-pecked  man. 

Once  more  at  its  end  Napoleon  looked  up  and 
spat  on  his  hands. 

231 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"  There  ain't  nothing  that  can  keep  some  women 
down  'cept  a  gravestone — and  I've  seen  some  grave 
stones  which  was  tilted." 

Despite  the  interest  and  amusement  she  felt  in  it 
all,  Beth  was  becoming  sleepy  as  she  sat  there  in 
the  sun.  She  shook  off  the  spell  and  arose,  approach 
ing  closer  to  the  bank  and  flume  where  Gettysburg 
was  toiling.  He  labored  on,  silently,  for  several 
minutes,  then  paused,  straightened  up  by  degrees, 
as  if  the  folds  in  his  back  were  stubborn,  and  looked 
at  their  visitor  steadily,  his  glass  eye  particularly 
fixed.  One  of  his  hands  pulled  down  his  jaw,  and 
then  it  closed  up  with  a  thump. 

"  Guess  this  kind  of  a  racket  is  sort  of  new  to 
you,  Mr.  Kent,"  he  ventured.  "  Ever  seen  gold 
washin'  before  ?  " 

"  No,"  Beth  confessed,  "  and  I  don't  see  where 
the  gold  is  to  come  from  now." 

Gettysburg  chuckled.  "  Holy  toads  !  Miners  do 
a  heap  of  work  and  never  see  it  neither.  Me  and 
Van  and  Napoleon  has  went  through  purg  and 
back,  many's  the  time,  and  was  lucky  to  git  out 
with  our  skeletons,  sayin'  nuthin'  about  the  gold." 

"  Oh."      She  could  think  of  nothing  else  to  say. 

"  In  fact  Van  was  all  that  got  me  out  onct — • 
Napoleon,  too.  We  wasn't  worth  it,  prob'ly. 
That's  the  joke  on  Van.  Since  then  us  three  cusses 
has  starved,  and  froze,  and  clean  roasted,  chasin' 
gold." 

"  Oh." 

232 


Work  and  Song 

"  We  was  lost  in  the  snow,  one  winter,  with 
nuthin'  to  eat  but  a  plug  of  tobacker,  a  can  of  vaso- 
lene,  and  a  porous  plaster.  We  lived  on  that  menu 
fer  a  week — that  and  snow-soup.  But  Van  got  us 
out  all  right — packed  Napoleon  about  five  miles  on 
his  back.  Nap  was  so  thin  there  wasn't  enough 
of  him  to  die."  His  one  good  eye  became  dreamily 
focused  on  the  past.  He  smiled.  "  But  someways 
the  desert  is  worse  than  the  snow.  We  got  ketched 
three  times  without  no  water.  Never  did  know, 
Nap  or  me,  how  Van  got  our  two  old  dried-up  car 
casses  out  the  last  time,  down  to  Death  Valley.  He's 
a  funny  cuss,  old  Van." 

Once  more  Beth  merely  answered :  "  Oh." 

"  You  bet !  "  resumed  Gettysburg.  "  He  never 
quits.  It  ain't  in  him.  He  works  his  hands  off  and 
his  soul  out  of  its  socket,  every  time."  He  laughed 
heartily.  "  Lord !  we  have  done  an  awful  lot  of  fool 
work  fer  nuthin' !  We've  tackled  tunnels  and  shafts, 
and  several  games  like  this,  and  pretty  near  died  a 
dozen  different  styles — all  uneasy  kinds  of  dyin' — 
and  we've  lived  when  it  was  a  darn  sight  uneasier  than 
croakin',  and  kept  on  tryin'  out  new  diggin's,  and 
kept  on  bein'  busted  all  the  time.  'NufF  to  make  a 
lemon  laugh,  the  fun  we've  had.  But  now,  by  Jupe ! 
we've  struck  it  at  last — and  it  ain't  a-goin'  to  git 
away ! " 

"Oh,  I'm  glad— I'm  glad!"  said  Beth,  winking 
back  a  bit  of  suspicious  moisture  that  came  un 
bidden  in  her  eyes  as  she  looked  on  this  weather- 

233 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

beaten,  hardship-beaten  old  figure,  still  sturdily  ready 
for  the  fates.  "  I'm  sure  you  all  deserve  it !  I'm 
sure  of  that !  " 

"Wai,  that's  a  question  fer  God  Almighty," 
Gettysburg  replied.  "  But  there's  the  gold,  the 
good  yellow  gold !  And  I'm  awful  glad  fer  Van !  " 

Into  the  water  he  dipped  his  crooked  old  fingers, 
and  scratching  down  behind  a  riffle  he  fetched  up  a 
small  amount  of  gold,  doubly  bright  with  the  water 
and  the  sunlight  upon  it. 

"  Gold — and  we  git  it  easy,"  he  added,  repeating : 
"  I'm  awful  glad  fer  Van.  You  ought  to  see  him 
shovel !  "  He  dropped  the  gold  back  into  the  water 
carelessly.  "It  ain't  a-goin'  to  do  us  old  jack- 
legged  cusses  much  good,  at  our  age,  but  I  would 
like  to  go  to  San  Francisco  this  summer  once,  and 
shoot  the  chutes !  " 


234 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

SUSPICIOUS  ANSWERS 

BETH  and  Van  rode  away  from  the  claim  just  after 
lunch,  she  on  a  borrowed  horse.  The  girl  had  not 
slept,  but  she  had  rested  well  and  was  far  more  fit 
for  the  journey  back  to  town  than  either  she  or 
Van  had  expected. 

He  went  with  her  part  way  only — far  enough  to 
put  her  safely  on  a  trail  from  which  she  could  not 
wander.  They  talked  but  little  as  they  rode — per 
haps  because  they  had  so  much  to  say  that  could 
not  be  approached.  Never  for  a  moment  did  Van 
relax  his  vigilance  upon  himself,  or  treat  her  other 
wise  than  as  a  man  for  whom  he  had  conceived  a 
natural  liking. 

When  they  came  to  the  place  of  parting  he  pulled 
up  his  broncho  and  faced  about  in  the  trail. 

"Well,  Kent,"  he  said,  "so  long.  You'll  have 
no  trouble  now."  He  held  forth  his  hand. 

Beth  gave  him  hers — and  all  her  heart.  Never 
theless,  his  clasp  was  as  brief  as  he  would  give  to 
one  of  his  sex. 

"  So  long,"  she  answered.  "  Good  luck.  I  am 
under  many  obligations." 

235 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"  They  won't  make  you  very  round  shouldered," 
he  said.  "  See  you  again." 

That  was  their  parting.  He  rode  back  at  once — 
and  Beth  continued  on  her  way.  She  turned  three 
times  in  her  saddle  to  watch  him  as  he  went,  but 
she  did  not  catch  him  glancing  back. 

About  sundown  she  rode  into  Goldite,  went  at 
once  to  Mrs.  Dick's,  and  tied  her  horse  to  a  post. 
Mrs.  Dick  she  met  in  the  hall. 

"  Snakes  alive !  "  exclaimed  that  lively  little  per 
son.  "  If  you  ain't  back  as  natural  as  life !  "  The 
garb  had  not  deceived  her  for  a  moment.  "  Where 
in  the  world  have  you  been,  in  such  a  rig?  " 

Beth's   answer  was   ready. 

"  I  went  to  see  my  brother,  and  had  to  spend  the 
night  on  the  desert." 

Mrs.  Dick  stared  at  her  in  wonder.  "  Talk  to 
me  about  the  Eastern  women  being  molly  cuddles ! 
You  don't  mean  his  cabin  was  blown  down  by  the 
storm?" 

Beth  was  ill-prepared  for  this,  but  she  met  it. 

"  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  that  roof  go 
by!" 

"  Are  you  hungry?  "  the  hostess  demanded.  "  You 
look  all  wore  out." 

"I  am,"  Beth  admitted.  "Has  Mr.  Bostwick 
been  here  in  my  absence?  " 

"  He  ain't  been  here  in  anything — nope." 

Beth's  relief  was  inexpressible.  She  was  safe, 
with  everything  behind  her !  No  one  knew,  or  would 

236 


Suspicious  Answers 

ever  need  to  know,  the  secret  in  possession  of  herself 
and  Van. 

"  If  anyone  comes  that  you  can  send,  will  you 
kindly  have  my  horse  taken  over  to  the  stable?" 
she  said.  "  I  must  go  upstairs  and  rest." 

"  Here's  Billy  Stitts  a-comin'  now,"  replied  the 
housewife,  moving  towards  the  door.  "  He's  been 
worried  to  death  about  you  bein'  gone ! " 

Beth  ran  at  once  for  the  stairs,  and  later,  from 
the  window,  saw  the  faithful  old  Billy  leading  her 
pony  away.  She  closed  her  door,  darkened  the  light, 
and  soon  clambered  wearily  into  bed,  where  she 
dropped  off  to  sleep  like  a  child,  lost  to  the  world 
through  the  dinner  hour  and  till  something  like  three 
in  the  morning.  She  awaked  then  for  a  moment, 
long  enough  to  think  of  Van,  then  sighed  in  absolute 
comfort  and  turned  to  sleep  again. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  at  last 
she  appeared  on  the  scene. 

"  Land  snakes ! "  said  Mrs.  Dick,  who  had  heard 
her  coming  down.  "  Ain't  you  the  sleeper !  Well, 
I've  kept  your  breakfast,  but  I  couldn't  keep  last 
night's  supper.  Your  friend,  Mr.  Bostwick,  was 
here  about  eight,  but  I  told  him  he'd  have  to  wait 
if  it  took  you  a  week  to  come  to." 

"  You  didn't  tell  him  I'd  been  away,  I  hope,"  said 
Beth,  suddenly  alarmed  at  the  thought  of  Searle's 
presence  in  the  town.  "  I'd  rather  no  one  knew 
but  you." 

"  Lord !  I  wouldn't   tell  him   if  a   rat  was   dead 

237 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

in  his  pocket !  "  Mrs.  Dick  expostulated.  "  I  can't 
abide  the  man,  and  you  might  as  well  know  it,  even 
if  it  does  hurt  your  feelings." 

Beth  sat  down  to  her  breakfast.  "You're  as 
good  as  you  can  be." 

"Well,  the  breakfast  ain't— 'taint  fresh,"  said 
Mrs.  Dick.  "  But  I'll  see  you  git  a  decent 
lunch." 

She  bustled  off  into  the  kitchen.  Beth  had  barely 
finished  eating  when  Bostwick  again  appeared. 

The  man  was  tanned  from  his  trip  in  the  desert. 
He  seemed  alert,  excited,  keen  over  prospects  rapidly 
coming  to  a  head. 

"  Well,  well,  Beth,"  he  said  as  he  came  inside  the 
dining-room,  "  I'm  back,  you  see,  but  I've  certainly 
had  a  time  of  it!  The  car  broke  down,  and  Glen 
had  left  Starlight  when  at  last  I  arrived,  and  I 
hunted  for  him  all  through  the  mountains  and  only 
found  him  four  days  ago,  and  we've  been  going  ever 
since.  I  couldn't  write,  but  I  did  feel  cut  up,  I 
assure  you,  about  leaving  you  here  alone  for  so  long 
a  time." 

He  advanced  as  if  to  kiss  her,  but  Beth  avoided 
his  caress.  She  was  calm  and  possessed.  She 
meant  to  ascertain  just  how  far  the  man  was  trying 
to  deceive  her. 

"  Won't  you  sit  down,  and  tell  me  all  about  it," 
she  said.  "You  saw  Glen  four  days  ago?"  She 
resumed  her  place  in  her  chair. 

"  Three  or  four  days  ago — I'm  mixed  in  my  dates," 

238 


Suspicious  Answers 

he  said,  as  he  also  took  a  seat.  "  He's  looking  fine, 
and  sent  his  love,  of  course." 

That  the  man  was  lying,  in  every  particular,  she 
began  to  feel  convinced. 

"You  left  him  well?  He  was  feeling  strong  and 
well?" 

"  Never  better,"  he  assured  her.  "  You  can  see 
what  this  wonderful  sunlight  does,  even  to  me." 

"  Yes,  I  see.     And  you  left  Starlight  yesterday?  " 

"  Yesterday  afternoon.  I  had  trouble  running 
back.  Otherwise  we'd  have  been  here  in  the  even- 
ing." 

She  glanced  at  him  quickly.  "  We?  Glen  didn't 
come  along?  He  isn't  here?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  certainly  not,"  he  hastened  to  say. 
"  I  brought  in  a  man  who — who  is  interested  in 
the  purchase  we  have  made." 

That  served  to  arouse  her  sense  of  wonderment 
at  what  he  had  really  been  doing  with  her  money. 
He  was  attempting  to  deceive  her  concerning  Glen, 
and  perhaps  his  entire  story  was  a  fabrication. 

"  Oh,"  she  said.  "  Then  you  have  purchased  the 
mine — y ou  and  Glen  ?  " 

"  Well — a  few  minor  details  remain  to  be  con 
cluded,"  he  said  off-handedly.  "  We  are  not  yet  in 
actual  possession  of  the  property.  There  will  be 
no  further  hitches,  however — and  the  claim  is  cer 
tainly  rich." 

For  the  life  of  her  she  could  not  tell  what  lay 
at  the  bottom  of  the  business.  The  strange  conflicts 

239 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

and  discrepancies  between  Glen's  very  own  letters 
made  the  riddle  utterly  obscure.  She  felt  that  Searle 
was  fashioning  falsehoods  in  every  direction.  That 
he  had  not  visited  Glen  at  all  was  her  fixed  conviction. 
A  sudden  distrust,  almost  a  loathing  for  this  heavy- 
browed  man,  was  settling  down  upon  her,  inescap 
ably.  Someway,  somehow  she  must  know  about  Glen 
for  herself.  Her  own  attempted  trip  to  Starlight 
had  discouraged  all  thought  of  further  adventure, 
and  no  reliance  whatsoever  could  be  placed  on  Searle's 
reports.  Perhaps  the  reputed  mining  property  was 
likewise  a  myth — or  if  such  a  property  existed,  Glen 
might  never  have  heard  of  it  at  all.  But  Glen's 
letter — she  was  always  forgetting  that  letter — the 
one  he  had  written  to  Searle. 

She  said :  "  Where  is  this  mine  that  Glen  has 
found?" 

He  colored  slightly.  "  We  have  all  agreed  not 
to  talk  too  much  about  it  yet.  It's  not  very  far 
from  here — I  can  tell  you  that.  Precautions  are 
necessary  where  a  hundred  men  follow  every  pros 
pector  about,  night  and  day,  if  he  happens  to  have 
found  a  bit  of  valuable  ore.  A  thousand  men  would 
be  after  this  property  if  they  knew  the  way  to 
secure  it." 

Perhaps,  after  all,  Glen  had  purposely  concealed 
this  matter  from  herself.  Bostwick  sounded  plaus 
ible.  Her  mind  reverted  to  her  brother's  illness,  for 
Glen  to  her  was  of  far  more  importance  than  all 
the  mines  in  Nevada. 

240 


Suspicious  Answers 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  that  Glen  is  well"  she  said, 
determined  on  another  tack.  "  He  hasn't  answered 
my  letter." 

Once  more  Bostwick  colored,  beneath  his  tan  and 
the  gun-metal  tint  of  his  jaw. 

"  I  suppose  he's  been  too  busy,"  he  answered. 
"  Have  you  written  again  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,"  she  answered  honestly.  "  I  wasn't 
sure  of  his  whereabouts.  You  are  sure  he's  in  Star 
light  now  ?  " 

"  Yes — but  you  needn't  write,"  he  hastened  to 
say.  "  He  said  he  might  come,  perhaps  to-morrow." 
He  rose  from  his  chair.  "  I've  got  to  hurry  off, 
little  girl.  These  negotiations  cannot  wait.  I'll 
run  in  when  I  can — this  afternoon  at  the  latest. 
I'm  glad  to  see  you  looking  so  well."  He  approached 
her  with  lover-like  intent.  "My  heart  has  been 
empty  and  forlorn,  away  from  you,  Beth.  Surely 
you  have  a  little — a  little  something  for  me,  pet? 
You  know  how  starved " 

"  Oh — Mrs.  Dick  is  coming !  "  she  interrupted  des 
perately.  "  You  must  have  a  great  deal  to  do." 

Mrs.  Dick  was  making  a  large  and  lively  noise  in 
the  kitchen. 

Bostwick  listened  for  a  second,  his  deep-set  eyes 
keenly  fixed  on  the  girl,  like  very  orbs  of  suspicion 
and  jealousy.  He  lowered  his  voice. 

"  Has  that  ruffian,  Van  Buren,  been  here  re 
cently?" 

She  raised  her  brows  in  well-feigned  astonishment. 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"  I  haven't  heard  of  any  ruffian  being  in  town." 

Bostwick  studied  her  face  for  a  moment  in  silence. 

"  I'll  be  around  this  afternoon,"  he  repeated. 
"  Good-by." 

He  departed  hurriedly,  glancing  at  his  watch  as 
he  went. 

Not  a  block  from  the  house  he  met  old  Billy  Stitts, 
who,  though  quite  unknown  to  the  New  York  man, 
knew  Bostwick  in  a  way  of  his  own. 

"  Morning,  Uncle. — Howdy?  "  he  said,  blocking 
Bostwick's  path.  "Back,  I  see.  Welcome  home. 
I  guess  you  don't  know  me  as  well  as  I  know  you. 
My  name  is  Stitts — Billy  Stitts — and  I'm  gittin' 
on  fine  with  your  niece.  I'm  the  one  which  runs 
her  errands  and  gits  the  inside  track." 

Bostwick,  staring  at  Billy  ominously,  and  about 
to  sweep  him  aside  as  a  bit  of  old  rubbish,  too  fa 
miliar  and  impudent  for  tolerance,  paused  abruptly 
in  his  impulse,  at  a  hint  which  Billy  had  supplied. 

"  Oh,"  he  said.  "  How  are  you  ?  So  you  are 
the  friend  who  runs  Miss  Kent's  errands?  You 
must  be  the  one  she  asked  me  to  befriend." 

"  Did  she  ?  "  said  old  Billy,  inordinately  pleased. 
"  What  did  I  tell  you  about  the  inside  track?  " 

"  I'm  glad  if  you  have  been  of  use,"  Bostwick 
told  him  insidiously.  "  You  didn't  say  what  your 
services  have  been.  Just  a  few  little  errands,  I 
suppose?  " 

"  Never  you  mind,"  said  Billy,  with  a  profoundly 
impressive  wink.  "  That's  between  her  and  me. 

242 


Suspicious  Answers 

That  ain't  even  fer  you,  Uncle  Bostwick,"  and  he 
winked  again. 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  agreed  Bostwick,  half 
consumed  with  rage  at  the  old  fellow's  abominable 
manners  and  familiarity.  "I'll  keep  you  in  mind 
and  add  some  reward  of  my  own  on  the  next  occa 
sion." 

He  bowed  and  hastened  on  his  way,  boiling  with 
curiosity  to  know  what  it  was  that  Beth  had  been 
doing  to  require  this  old  tattler's  services.  He 
meant  to  ascertain.  His  suspicions  went  at  once 
to  Van,  at  thought  of  whom  he  closed  down  his  jaw 
like  a  vise. 

Filled  with  a  turmoil  of  thoughts  that  seethed 
in  his  brain,  like  a  brew  in  a  witch's  cauldron — some 
of  them  dark  and  some  golden  bright,  and  some  of 
them  red  with  lust  for  many  things — he  proceeded 
down  street  to  McCoppet's  place,  to  find  himself 
locked  out  of  the  private  den,  where  the  gambler 
was  closeted  with  Lawrence. 


243 


CHAPTER  XXX 


BOSTWICK  had  told  Beth  partial  truths.  His 
journey  had  been  hard.  His  car  had  been  twice 
disabled  on  the  desert;  Lawrence  had  been  difficult 
to  find;  delays  had  confronted  him  at  every  turn, 
and  not  until  midnight  of  the  day  before  this  had 
he  come  with  his  quarry  to  Goldite — barely  in  time 
to  save  the  situation,  with  the  reservation  opening 
less  than  forty-eight  hours  away. 

He  had  not  seen  Glen,  nor  approached  the  town 
of  Starlight  closer  than  fifteen  miles.  He  had  not 
yet  expended  Beth's  money,  which  only  that  morning 
had  been  practically  placed  at  McCoppet's  disposal. 
But  having  finally  landed  the  Government  surveyor 
in  camp,  he  had  achieved  the  first  desirable  end  in 
the  game  they  were  playing,  and  matters  were  mov 
ing  at  last  with  a  speed  to  suit  the  most  exacting. 

During  the  interim  between  Searle's  departure  and 
return  affairs  had  been  a  trifle  complicated  in  an 
other  direction — affairs  that  lay  between  the  gam 
bler  and  his  friend,  the  lumberman,  big  Trimmer. 

Trimmer  had  been  paid  one  thousand  dollars  only 
of  the  sum  agreed  upon  when  he  gave  the  name  of 
Culver  to  the  half-breed  Indian,  Cayuse.  He  had 


Beth' 8  One  Expedient 

since  spent  his  money,  demanded  the  balance  due, 
and  threatened  McCoppet  with  exposure,  only  to  be 
met  with  a  counter  threat  of  prison  for  life  as  the 
half-breed's  accomplice  in  the  crime.  McCoppet 
meant  to  pay  a  portion  of  the  creature's  price,  but 
intended  to  get  it  from  Bostwick.  Indeed,  to-day  he 
had  the  money,  but  was  far  too  much  engrossed  with 
Lawrence  to  give  the  lumberman  a  thought. 

Trimmer,  waxing  greedy  through  the  ease  with 
which  he  had  blackmailed  McCoppet,  had  developed 
a  cunning  of  his  own.  Convinced  that  the  gambler 
was  accustomed  to  incubating  plans  in  his  private 
office,  the  lumberman  made  shift  to  excavate  a  hole 
beneath  the  floor  of  that  particular  den  of  privacy, 
and,  after  having  spent  half  a  night  in  vain,  in  this 
place  of  concealment,  was  at  last  being  duly  re 
warded  as  he  listened  to  McCoppet  and  Lawrence. 

With  his  ear  to  a  knot-hole  he  gathered  in  every 
thing  essential  to  a  knowledge  of  the  plot.  He 
became  aware  that  Lawrence  "  fell  "  for  twenty  thou 
sand  dollars ;  he  overheard  the  details  of  the  "  sur 
vey  "  about  to  be  made ;  but  to  save  his  very  life 
he  could  not  have  fathomed  the  means  that  were 
about  to  be  employed  to  "jump"  the  mining  prop 
erty  belonging  to  Van  Buren  and  his  partners. 

Equipped  with  this  latest  means  of  squeezing  Mc 
Coppet,  the  creature  emerged  from  his  hole  in  time 
to  meet  the  gambler  at  the  bar,  during  a  moment 
of  Bostwick's  temporary  absence. 

"  Opal,"  he  said  significantly,  "  I  need  to  see  you 

245 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

fer  a  minute.  It  won't  be  no  healthier  to  refuse  me 
now  than  it  was  the  first  time  I  come." 

The  gambler  looked  at  him  coldly.  "  I  haven't 
got  time  to  talk  now,  Larry,  but  some  of  your  money 
is  at  your  order  any  time  you  want  it,  in  gold,  or 
poker  chips,  or  gin." 

Trimmer  was  placated.  "  All  right,"  he  said, 
and  cunningly  resolved,  upon  the  spot,  to  keep  his 
latest  secret  on  the  ice. 

Lawrence  had  already  disappeared  to  hasten  ar 
rangements  for  getting  out  upon  his  work. 

Bostwick  had  waited  half  an  hour  in  the  utmost 
impatience.  With  a  hundred  things  to  increase  his 
restlessness  of  mind  and  body,  he  had  finally  gone 
to  the  postoffice  and  there  discovered  a  letter  from 
Glenmore  Kent. 

It  was  short,  and  now  no  longer  fresh.  It  had 
been  composed  just  after  the  young  man's  accident, 
and  after  relating  how  he  had  received  a  not  in 
considerable  injury,  requested  Searle  to  come  to  Star 
light  at  once,  if  possible,  and  not  to  divulge  any  need 
less  facts  to  Beth. 

"  I'm  broke,  and  this  knock  puts  me  down  and 
out,"  the  letter  concluded.  "  Come  down,  like  a 
good  old  chap,  and  cheer  me  up." 

Bostwick  destroyed  the  letter  promptly,  lest  it  fall 
by  some  accident  into  other  hands  than  his  own. 
Not  without  a  slight  feeling  of  guilt,  the  man  shut 
out  all  thought,  for  the  present,  of  deserting  Goldite 
and  the  plot.  That  Beth  would  learn  nothing  from 

246 


Beth 's  One  Expedient 

himself  as  to  Glen's  condition  was  a  certainty.  He 
was  glad  of  this  wisdom  in  the  boy — this  show  of 
courage  whereby  he  had  wished  his  sister  spared. 

But  the  more  he  thought  upon  Beth's  attitude  to 
wards  himself,  and  the  mystifying  confessions  old 
Billy  Stitts  had  made,  concerning  the  errands  he 
was  running  for  the  girl,  the  more  Bostwick  fretted 
and  warmed  with  exasperation,  suspicion,  and  jeal 
ousy.  He  returned  to  McCoppet's.  The  door  to 
the  den  was  still  barred.  Impatiently  he  started 
again  for  Mrs.  Dick's.  He  was  not  in  the  least 
certain  as  to  what  he  meant  to  do  or  say,  but  felt 
obliged  to  do  something. 

Meantime,  Beth  had  written  to  her  brother.  Bost- 
wick's  evasions  and  lies  had  aroused  more  than  merely 
a  vague  alarm  in  her  breast.  She  had  begun  to 
feel,  perhaps  partially  by  intuition,  that  something 
was  altogether  wrong.  Searle's  anxiety  to  assure 
her  she  need  not  write  to  Glen — that  he  was  coming 
to  Goldite — had  provided  the  one  required  element 
to  excite  a  new  trend  in  her  thought.  She  knew 
that  Glen  would  not  come  soon  to  town.  She  knew 
she  must  get  him  word.  She  had  thought  of  one 
way  only  to  insure  herself  and  Glen  against  deceit — 
ask  Van  to  go  in  person  with  her  letter,  and  bring 
her  Glen's  reply. 

Had  she  felt  the  affair  to  be  in  the  slightest  de 
gree  unimportant  she  might  have  hesitated  to  think 
of  making  this  request,  but  the  more  she  dwelt  upon 
it  the  more  essential  it  seemed  to  become.  Her 

247 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

brother's  very  life  might  be  dependent  upon  this 
promptness  of  action.  A  very  large  sum  of  money 
was  certainly  involved  in  some  sort  of  business  of 
which,  she  felt,  both  she  and  Glen  were  in  ignorance. 
Bostwick  had  certainly  not  seen  Glen  at  all.  His 
deceptions  might  mean  anything! — the  gravest  of 
dangers  to  them  all! 

It  had  taken  her  the  briefest  time  only  to  resolve 
upon  her  course — and  then  old  Billy  came  upon  the 
scene,  as  if  in  answer  to  a  question  she  had  asked — 
how  to  get  her  request  and  the  letter  to  Glen  across 
the  hills  to  Van,  at  the  "Laughing  Water"  claim? 

Three  letters  she  wrote,  and  tore  to  scraps,  before 
one  was  finally  composed  to  express  all  she  felt,  in 
the  way  that  she  wished  it  expressed.  Old  Billy 
went  off  to  wait  and  returned  there  duly,  enormously 
pleased  by  his  commission.  He  knew  the  way  to 
the  "  Laughing  Water  "  claim  and  could  ride  the 
borrowed  pony. 

As  pleased  as  a  dog  with  a  parcel  of  meat,  en 
trusted  to  his  keeping  by  a  confident  master,  he 
finally  started  for  the  hay-yard,  with  two  dainty 
letters  in  his  keeping.  One  was  to  Van,  with 
Beth's  request;  the  other  was,  of  course,  to  her 
brother. 

Bostwick  met  the  proud  old  beau  at  the  corner  of 
the  street. 

"  Say,  Uncle,  what  did  I  tell  you,"  said  Billy  at 
once.  "  This  time  it's  the  biggest  errand  yet." 

Bostwick  had  wondered  if  he  might  not  catch  Mr. 

248 


Beth's  One  Expedient 

Stitts  in  some  such  service  as  he  boasted  now,  and 
his  wit  was  worthy  of  his  nature. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  readily,  "  Miss  Kent  was  saying 
she  thought  perhaps  she  could  get  you  to  carry  a 
note  to  Mr.  Van  Buren."  It  was  a  hazardous  coup 
but  he  dared  it  with  the  utmost  show  of  pleasure  in 
his  smile.  For  a  second,  however,  as  he  watched  the 
old  man's  face,  he  feared  he  had  overshot  the  mark. 

Old  Billy  was  pleased  and  disappointed  together. 
However,  his  wish  to  prove  his  importance  greatly 
outweighed  his  chagrin  that  Beth  should  have  taken 
even  "  Uncle  "  Bostwick  into  her  confidence. 

"  That  ain't  all  she  give  me,"  he  announced,  as 
foolishly  as  a  child.  "I've  got  her  letter  to  her 
brother,  over  to  Starlight,  too,  and  nothin'  couldn't 
stop  me  from  takin'  it  up  to  the  '  Laughing  Water  ' 
claim.  You  bet  I'll  see  Van  Buren  gits  it  right  into 
his  hand  from  me !  " 

If  Bostwick  had  contemplated  making  an  attempt 
to  bribe  the  old  beau  into  permitting  him  a  glance 
at  the  letters,  he  abandoned  the  thought  with  saga 
cious  alacrity.  He  must  think  of  something  safer. 
A  letter  to  Van  Buren  and  one  to  Glen  was  more 
than  he  had  counted  on  discovering.  It  made  him 
decidedly  uneasy. 

"  I'm  sure  you'll  deliver  everything  safely,"  he 
said,  masking  his  annoyance  with  a  smile.  "  Before 
you  go,  perhaps,  you'd  take  something  to  drink." 

The  suggestion  in  his  mind  was  crude,  but  at  least 
it  was  something. 

249 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"Huh!"  said  old  Billy,  "  Me !— drink  and  git  a 
jag  when  she's  expectin'  me  to  hike  right  out  of 
camp?  Guess  you  don't  know  me,  Uncle,  not  worth 
a  mice!  Didn't  I  say  nuthin'  couldn't  stop  me? 
And  I'm  goin'  right  now." 

He  clapped  his  bony  old  hand  over  his  pocket, 
where  the  two  precious  letters  reposed,  and  winking 
prodigiously  at  Bostwick,  departed  forthwith  from 
the  scene. 

Bostwick  could  have  run  him  down,  beaten  him 
to  the  ground  and  snatched  the  letters  from  him, 
but  he  did  not  dare.  Instead,  he  merely  continued 
to  grin  while  Billy  remained  in  sight.  Then  instead 
of  going  on  to  Beth's,  he  circled  a  building  and 
returned  down  street  towards  McCoppet's. 


250 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

MC  COPPET     BUSIES     HIS     MIND 

UNFORTUNATELY  for  Bostwick  he  knew  no  ruffians 
in  the  camp — none  of  the  Trimmers  who  would,  per 
haps,  accept  a  sum  of  money  to  waylay  a  man,  bash 
him  over  the  head,  and  filch  required  letters  from 
his  pocket.  He  was  not  precisely  willing,  moreover, 
to  broach  such  an  undertaking  to  the  gambler.  This, 
after  all,  was  his  private  affair,  to  be  shared  with 
no  one  he  knew. 

The  man  had  arrived  at  the  truth  concerning  the 
letters  with  commendable  skill  in  deduction.  He  had 
himself  destroyed  Beth's  earlier  letter  to  her  brother, 
for  reasons  of  policy.  He  had  found  her  conduct 
cold,  if  not  suspicious,  this  morning.  How  far  she 
had  been  excited  to  distrust  himself  or  the  mails  he 
could  not  estimate.  He  was  certain,  however,  she 
had  sent  a  request  to  Van  Buren  to  carry  a  letter 
to  Glen. 

Her  reasons  for  taking  precautions  so  extraor 
dinary  were  undoubtedly  significant.  He  was  galled ; 
his  anger  against  Van  Buren  was  consuming.  But 
first  and  foremost  he  must  block  the  harm  Beth's 
letter  to  her  brother  might  accomplish.  For  two 

251 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

days  more  young  Kent  and  Beth  must  remain  in 
ignorance  of  what  was  being  done  through  the  use 
of  her  money — of  the  fact  that  no  mine  of  Glen's 
discovery  was  the  object  of  the  scheme  he  was  work 
ing,  and  that  none  of  his  own  alleged  money  was 
being  employed  in  the  game. 

He  made  up  his  mind  to  go  to  Starlight  himself — 
to  be  on  hand  when  Van  Buren  should  arrive.  With 
Glenmore  ill,  or  injured,  in  his  bed,  the  case  might 
offer  simple  handling.  Further  neglect  of  Glenmore 
might,  indeed,  be  fatal,  at  a  juncture  so  delicate. 
From  every  possible  viewpoint  the  thing  to  do  was 
to  intercept  Van  Buren. 

He  found  McCoppet  just  returned  from  launching 
Lawrence  forth  upon  his  work.  Three  of  the  gam 
bler's  chosen  men  had  accompanied  the  Government's 
surveyor.  They  had  taken  Bostwick's  car.  In 
structions  had  been  simple  enough.  Push  over  the 
reservation  line  to  cover  the  "  Laughing  Water " 
claim,  by  night  of  the  following  day. 

Searle  was  taken  to  the  private  den.  McCoppet 
imparted  his  information  with  the  utmost  brevity. 

"  Nothing  for  us  to  do  but  to  wait  till  six  o'clock, 
day  after  to-morrow  morning,"  he  concluded,  "  then 
play  our  cards — and  play  'em  quick." 

"  You've  taken  my  car? "  said  Bostwick,  whose 
personal  plans  were  thrown  into  utter  confusion,  for 
the  moment.  "  I  wanted  that  car  for  my  own  use. 
I've  got  to  go  to  Starlight  to-morrow." 

"  Sit  down,"  said  McCoppet,  throwing  away  his 

252 


McCoppet  Busies  His  Mind 

unsmoked  cigar  and  taking  another  from  his  pocket. 
"What's  going  on  at  Starlight?" 

Bostwick  had  no  intention  of  divulging  his  per 
sonal  affairs,  but  there  was  something  in  this  that 
trenched  upon  "  company  "  concerns. 

"  Van  Buren's  going  over  there,  to  see  young 
Kent,"  he  admitted.  "  I've  got  to  see  him  first." 

McCoppet  looked  up  at  him  sharply. 

"  Young  Kent  ain't  next  to  anything?  "  he  de 
manded. 

"Not  yet." 

"  Look  here,"  said  the  gambler,  whose  wits  were 
inordinately  keen,  "  is  anything  leaking,  Bost 
wick?  What  about  the  girl — the  young  chump's 
sister?  You're  not  putting  her  wise  to  the  lay 
out?" 

"  Certainly  not !  "  said  Bostwick.  "  She  knows 
nothing.  But  it  wouldn't  be  safe  for  this  mix-up 
to  occur.  At  any  rate,  I  propose  to  be  there  when 
Van  Buren  arrives." 

McCoppet  arose,  plunged  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
and  paced  up  and  down  reflectively. 

"  Someways  I'm  glad  Van  Buren's  going,"  he  said. 
"  I've  been  trying  to  figure  how  I  could  play  the 
game  to  have  him  away  when  we  come  to  take  the 
trick.  He's  hostile  in  a  fight.  I  guess  it's  all  right. 
Don't  need  you  here.  You  can  copper  any  possible 
harm  down  there  at  Starlight,  and  meantime  I'll  see 
if  there's  any  known  way  of  delaying  Van  Buren's 
return." 

253 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"  But  how  am  I  going  to  get  down  there  and 
back?  "  said  Bostwick,  intent  upon  the  need  for  haste. 
"  I  can't  get  around  without  a  car." 

"  Don't  get  tropical,"  said  McCoppet  calmly.  "  I 
can  get  you  a  car  in  fifteen  minutes.  It  ain't  as 
good  as  yours,  but  we  needed  the  one  that  was 
surest  to  keep  on  its  legs.  If  you  ain't  got  anything 
more  on  your  mind,  I  want  to  chase  around  for  a 
lumberman — a  friend  of  mine — before  he  gits  any 
drunker." 

Bostwick  arose. 

"  Arrange  for  that  car  to  take  me  to-night,  after 
dinner.  I  think  that's  all." 

He  repaired  to  his  room  to  attend  to  a  dozen 
small  affairs,  then  went  once  more  to  Beth's.  She 
was  not  in  the  least  surprised  to  hear  him  say  he 
meant  to  return  to  Starlight  and  to  Glen  that  night, 
on  business  of  importance  to  them  all,  but  she  did 
not  believe  him  in  the  least.  He  remained  in  the 
hope  of  entrapping  her  into  some  sort  of  self-be 
trayal  as  to  what  she  had  recently  done,  but  with 
out  avail. 

The  hour  that  he  spent  at  Mrs.  Dick's  was  dull 
for  them  both — dull  and  distasteful  to  the  girl,  grow 
ing  so  rapidly  to  hate  and  distrust  him,  dull  and 
aggravating  to  Bostwick,  with  jealousy  increasing 
upon  him.  His  one  consolation  lay  in  the  fact  that 
in  less  than  two  days  Van  Buren  would  be  no  better 
off  than  a  pauper  at  best  with  scarcely  a  shelter  for 
his  head. 

254 


McCoppet  Busies  His  Mind 

One  of  the  interesting  and  vital  chapters  in  the 
whole  affair  was  meanwhile  in  McCoppet's  hands  and 
receiving  his  attention.  Trimmer  had  been  cap 
tured,  far  more  sober  than  the  gambler  could  have 
hoped.  The  two  were  in  the  den  once  more,  the 
lumberman  smoking  an  excellent  cigar  as  if  it  had 
been  a  stick  of  candy. 

McCoppet  came  to  his  subject  promptly. 

"Look  here,  Larry,"  he  said,  "you  know  Van 
Buren  when  you  see  him." 

Trimmer  glanced  up  sharply,  ready  in  an  instant 
to  resent  what  he  felt  to  partake  of  the  nature  of 
a  personal  affront. 

"Don't  git  funny,  Opal.  If  ever  I  fight  Van 
Buren  when  I'm  sober  I'll  eat  him  alive.  I  was 
drunk  when  he  licked  me,  and  you  know  it ! " 

McCoppet  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  half  closed 
his  eyes. 

"  I  didn't  know  but  what  you'd  like  to  sober  up 
and  lick  him." 

Trimmer  stared,  shifted  uneasily  in  his  seat,  and 
demanded : 

"Where?      Where  is  he  at?" 

"  He's  going  to  Starlight  to-morrow — from  up 
by  the  reservation — from  his  claim.  If  he  don't 
git  back  for  a  couple  of  days — I  could  make  it 
worth  your  while;  and  you  could  cash  in  for  that 
time  he  licked  you  when  you  wasn't  in  condi 
tion." 

Again  Trimmer  fidgeted.  "  I  guess  he  licked  me 
255 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

fair  enough.  I  admit  he's  all  right  in  a  scrap.  I 
ain't  holdin'  nuthin'  agin  him.  Goldite's  good  enough 
fer  me." 

McCoppet  knew  the  creature  was  afraid  to  meet 
his  man — that  Trimmer's  attack  on  Van  Buren,  once 
before,  had  been  planned  with  much  deliberation, 
had  amounted  to  an  ambush,  in  point  of  fact,  result 
ing  in  disaster  to  the  bully. 

"  I  counted  on  you  to  help  me,  Larry,"  he  said, 
drumming  on  the  table  with  his  fingers.  "  You're 
the  only  man  of  your  kind  with  brains  in  all  the 
camp." 

Trimmer  had  smoked  his  cigar  to  within  an  inch 
of  his  mouth.  He  extinguished  the  fire  and  chewed 
up  the  stump  voraciously. 

"Say!"  he  suddenly  ejaculated,  leaping  to  his 
feet  and  coming  around  the  table,  "  I  can  fix  him 
all  right,"  and  he  lowered  his  voice  to  a  whisper. 
"  Barger  would  give  up  a  leg  to  git  a  show  at  Van 
Buren !  " 

"Barger?"  echoed  McCoppet.  "Matt?  But 
they  got  him!  Got  'em  all." 

"Got  nuthin',"  the  lumberman  ejaculated. 
"  What's  the  good  of  all  these  lyin'  papers  when 
I  seen  Matt  myself,  readin'  the  piece  about  him  goin' 
back  to  the  pen  ?  " 

McCoppet  rose,  went  to  the  window,  and  returned 
again. 

"Larry,  you're  all  right,"  he  said.  "Where's 
Barger  now?  " 

256 


McCoppet  Busies  His  Mind 

Trimmer  winked.  "  That's  his  business,  and 
mine." 

"All  right — that's  all  right,"  agreed  the  gam 
bler.  "  Wouldn't  he  take  it  as  a  favor  if  you  passed 
him  some  money  and  the  word  about  Van  Buren's 
hike  to  Starlight?  " 

Trimmer  got  out  a  new  cigar,  lit  up,  and  began 
to  smoke  as  before. 

"  I  was  goin'  to  pass  him  some  of  mine,"  he  con 
fessed.  "Yours  will  suit  me  just  as  good." 

"  Five  hundred  ought  to  help  him  some,"  said  the 
gambler.  "  Come  out  to  the  bar." 

At  dark  the  lumberman  left  the  camp  on  foot, 
heading  for  the  mountains.  Bostwick  departed  in 
the  borrowed  car  at  eight.  The  whole  town  was 
ablaze  with  light,  and  tumultuous  with  sound.  Glare 
and  disturbance  together,  however,  only  faintly  sym 
bolized  the  excitement  and  fever  in  the  camp.  A 
thousand  men  were  making  final  .preparations  for 
the  rush  so  soon  to  come — the  mad  stampede  upon 
the  reservation  ground,  barely  more  than  a  day  re 
moved. 

Miners  with  outfits,  gamblers  with  their  para 
phernalia,  saloon  men  with  case  on  case  of  liquors, 
assayers,  lawyers,  teamsters,  cooks — even  a  half  dozen 
women — comprised  the  heterogeneous  army  making 
ready  for  the  charge.  The  streets  were  filled  with 
horses,  men,  and  mules.  The  saloons  were  jammed 
to  suffocation.  Musical  discord  filled  the  air.  Only 

257 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

the  land,  the  silent  old  hills,  the  ancient,  burned-out 
furnace  of  gold,  was  absolutely  calm.  Overhead  a 
few  clouds  blurred  the  sky.  Beyond  them  the  eternal 
march  of  the  stars  proceeded  in  the  majesty  of  space, 
with  billions  of  years  in  which  to  fulfil  the  cosmic 
cycle  of  existence. 


258 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE  HARDSHIPS  OF  THE  TRAIL 

IN  the  night,  far  out  to  the  northward,  a  storm 
descended  like  a  cataclysm.  Torrential  rains  were 
poured  upon  the  hills  from  a  cloudburst  exceptionally 
savage.  Only  the  scattered  outposts,  as  it  were, 
of  the  storm  were  blown  as  far  as  Goldite.  A 
sprinkle  of  rain  that  dried  at  once  was  the  most 
those  mountains  received. 

Van  made  an  early  start  from  the  "  Laughing 
Water  "  claim,  to  deliver  Beth's  letter  in  Starlight. 
Her  note  to  himself  he  read  once  more  as  his  pony 
jogged  down  the  descent. 

"Dear  Mr.  Van:  I  wonder  if  I  dare  to  ask  a 
favor — from  one  who  has  done  so  much  already? 
My  brother,  in  Starlight,  is  ill.  He  has  hurt  him 
self,  I  do  not  know  how  badly.  A  letter  I  sent  has 
never  been  received,  and  I  am  worried.  The  effort 
I  made  to  see  him — well — at  least,  I'm  glad  I  made 
the  effort.  But  meantime,  what  of  poor  Glen? 
Some  little  fear  I  have  may  be  groundless.  I  shall 
therefore  keep  it  to  myself — but  I  have  it,  perhaps 
because  I  am  a  woman.  I  must  know  the  truth  about 
my  brother — how  he  is — what  has  been  happening. 
It  is  far  more  important  than  I  dare  confess.  I 

259 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

have  written  him  a  letter  and  sent  it  to  you  in  the 
hope  you  may  not  find  it  impossible  to  carry  it  to 
Glen  in  person.  If  I  am  asking  too  much,  please 
do  not  hesitate  to  say  so.  I  am  sure  you  will  be 
friendly  enough  for  that — to  say  '  no  '  if  need  be  to 
another  friend — your  friend,  BETH  KENT." 

She  did  not  regret  that  desert  experience — that 
was  almost  enough  for  him  to  know !  He  had  lived 
in  a  glow  since  that  wonderful  night — and  this  letter 
provided  another.  He  rode  like  a  proud  young 
crusader  of  old,  with  his  head  in  a  region  of  sun 
shine  and  gold,  his  vision  transfixed  by  a  face.  Her 
love  had  become  his  holy  grail — and  for  that  he  would 
ride  to  death  itself. 

His  way  he  shortened,  or  thought  to  shorten,  by 
dropping  down  from  the  reservation  heights  to  the 
new-made  town  a  mile  below.  He  came  upon  the 
place  abruptly,  after  dipping  once  into  a  canyon, 
and  looked  with  amazement  on  the  place.  In  the 
past  twelve  hours  it  had  doubled  in  size  and  increased 
twenty-fold  in  its  fever.  The  face  of  the  desert 
was  literally  alive  with  men  and  animals.  Half  of 
Goldite  and  practically  all  of  a  dozen  lesser  camps 
were  there.  Confusion,  discomfort,  and  distraction 
seemed  hopelessly  enthroned.  The  "  rush  "  was  writ 
ten  in  men's  faces,  in  their  actions,  in  their  baggage, 
words,  and  rising  temperature. 

A  dozen  stalwart  stampeders  pounced  upon  Van 
like  wolves.  They  wanted  to  know  what  he  thought 
of  the  reservation,  where  to  go,  whether  or  not  there 

260 


The  Hardships  of  the  Trail 

was  any  more  ground  like  that  of  the  "  Laughing 
Water  "  claim,  what  he  had  heard  from  his  Indian 
friends,  and  what  he  would  take  for  his  placer.  The 
crowd  about  him  rapidly  increased.  Men  in  a  time 
of  excitement  such  as  this  flock  as  madly  as  sheep 
whenever  one  may  lead.  Anything  is  news — any  man 
is  of  interest  who  has  in  his  pocket  a  piece  of  rock,  or 
has  in  his  eye  a  wink.  No  man  is  willing  to  be  left 
outside.  He  must  know  all  there  is  to  be  known. 

It  was  utterly  useless  for  Van  to  protest  his  igno 
rance  of  the  reservation  ground.  He  owned  a  de 
posit  of  placer  gold.  Success  had  crowned  his  ef 
forts.  It  was  something  to  get  in  touch  with  suc 
cess,  rub  shoulders  with  a  man  who  had  the  gold. 

His  friends  were  there  in  the  red-faced  mob.  They 
said  they  were  his  friends,  and  they  doubtless  knew. 
Some  were,  indeed,  old  acquaintances  whom  Van 
would  gladly  have  assisted  towards  a  needed  change 
of  fortune.  He  was  powerless,  not  only  to  aid 
these  men,  but  also  to  escape.  Despite  his  utmost  en 
deavors  they  held  him  there  an  hour,  and  to  make  up 
the  time,  he  chose  the  hottest,  roughest  trail  through 
the  range,  when  at  last  he  was  clear  of  the  town. 

The  climb  he  made  on  his  pony  to  slice  a  few  miles 
from  his  route  was  over  a  mountain  and  through 
a  gulch  that  was  known  as  The  Devil's  Slide.  It 
was  gravel  that  moved  underfoot  with  never-failing 
treachery,  gravel  made  hot  by  the  rays  of  the  sun, 
and  flinging  up  a  scorching  heat  while  it  crawled  and 
blistered  underfoot.  On  midsummer  days  men  had 

261 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

perished  here,  driven  mad  by  the  dancing  of  the  air 
and  the  dread  of  the  movement  where  they  trod.  The 
last  two  miles  of  this  desolate  slope  Van  walked  and 
led  his  broncho. 

He  entered  "  Solid  Canyon  "  finally,  and  mounting 
once  more  let  Suvy  pick  the  way  between  great  boul 
ders,  where  gray  rattlesnakes  abounded  in  excep 
tional  numbers.  These  were  the  hardships  of  the 
ride,  all  there  were  that  Van  felt  worth  the  counting. 
He  had  reckoned  without  that  far-off  storm,  which 
had  raged  in  the  darkness  of  the  night. 

He  came  to  the  river,  the  ford  between  the  banks 
where  he  and  Beth  had  found  a  shallow  stream.  For 
a  moment  he  stared  at  it  speechlessly.  A  great, 
swiftly-moving  flood  was  there,  tawny,  roiled  with  the 
mud  torn  down  and  dissolved  in  the  water's  violence, 
and  foaming  still  from  a  plunge  it  had  taken  above. 

It  was  ten  to  twenty  feet  deep.  This  Van  real 
ized  as  he  sat  there  on  his  sweating  horse,  measuring 
up  the  banks.  The  depth  had  encroached  upon  the 
slope  whereon  he  was  wont  to  ascend  the  further 
side.  There  was  one  place  only  where  he  felt  assured 
a  landing  might  be  achieved. 

"  Well,  Suvy,"  he  said  to  the  animal  presently, 
"  it  looks  more  like  a  swim  than  a  waltz  quadrille, 
and  neither  of  us  built  web-footed." 

Without  further  ado  he  placed  Beth's  letter  in 
his  hat,  then  rode  his  pony  down  the  bank  and  into  the 
angry-looking  water.  Suvy  halted  a  moment  uncer 
tainly,  then,  like  his  master,  determined  to  proceed. 

262 


The  Hardships  of  the  Trail 

Five  feet  out  he  was  swimming,  headed  instinctively 
up  the  stream  and  buried  deep  under  the  surface. 
Van  still  remained  in  the  saddle.  He  was  more  than 
waist  under,  loosely  clinging  to  his  seat  and  giving 
the  pony  the  reins. 

Suvy  was  powerful;  he  swam  doggedly,  but  the 
current  was  tremendous  in  its  sheer  liquid  mass  and 
momentum.  Van  slipped  off  and  swam  by  the  bron 
cho's  side.  Together  the  two  breasted  the  surge  of 
the  tide,  and  now  made  more  rapid  progress.  It 
required  tremendous  effort  to  forge  ahead  and  not 
be  swept  headlong  to  a  choppy  stretch  of  rapids,  just 
below. 

"  Up  stream,  boy,  up  stream,"  said  Van,  as  if  to 
a  comrade,  for  he  had  noted  the  one  likely  place  to 
land,  and  Suvy  was  drifting  too  far  downward. 

They  came  in  close  to  the  bank,  as  Van  had  feared, 
below  the  one  fair  landing.  Despite  his  utmost 
efforts,  to  which  the  pony  willingly  responded,  they 
could  not  regain  what  had  been  lost.  The  broncho 
made  a  fine  but  futile  attempt  to  gain  a  footing 
and  scramble  up  the  almost  perpendicular  wall  of 
rock  and  earth  by  which  he  was  confronted.  Time 
after  time  he  circled  completely  in  the  surge,  to  no 
avail.  He  may  have  become  either  confused  or  dis 
couraged.  Whichever  it  was,  he  turned  about,  dur 
ing  a  moment  when  Van  released  the  reins,  and  swam 
sturdily  back  whence  he  come. 

Van,  in  the  utmost  patience,  turned  and  followed. 
Suvy  awaited  his  advent  on  the  shore. 

263 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"  Try  to  keep  a  little  further  up,  boy,  if  you 
can,"  said  the  man,  and  he  mounted  and  rode  as 
before  against  the  current. 

The  broncho  was  eager  to  obey  directions,  eager 
to  do  the  bidding  of  the  man  he  strangely  loved.  All 
of  the  first  hard  struggle  was  repeated — and  the 
current  caught  them  as  before.  Again,  as  formerly, 
Van  slipped  off  and  swam  by  his  pony's  side.  He 
could  not  hold  his  shoulder  against  the  animal,  and 
guide  him  thus  up  the  stream,  but  was  trailed  out 
lengthwise  and  flung  about  in  utter  helplessness, 
forming  a  drag  against  which  the  pony's  most  des 
perate  efforts  could  not  prevail. 

They  came  to  the  bank  precisely  as  they  had  before, 
and  once  again,  perhaps  more  persistently,  Suvy 
made  wild,  eager  efforts  to  scramble  out  where  escape 
was  impossible.  Again  and  again  he  circled,  pawed 
the  bank,  and  turned  his  eyes  appealingly  to  Van,  as 
if  for  help  or  suggestions. 

At  last  he  acknowledged  defeat,  or  lost  compre 
hension  of  the  struggle.  He  swam  as  on  the  former 
trial  to  the  bank  on  the  homeward  side. 

There  was  nothing  for  Van  but  to  follow  as  before. 
When  he  came  out,  dripping  and  panting,  by  the 
animal,  whose  sides  were  fairly  heaving  as  he  labored 
for  breath,  he  was  still  all  cheer  and  encouragement. 

"  Suvy,"  said  he,  "  a  failure  is  a  chap  who  couldn't 
make  a  fire  in  hell.  We've  got  to  cross  this  river 
if  we  have  to  burn  it  up." 

He  took  the  broncho's  velvety  nose  in  his  hands 

264 


The  Hardships  of  the  Trail 

anU  gave  him  a  rough  little  shake.  Then  he  patted 
him  smartly  on  the  neck. 

"  For  a  pocket-size  river,"  he  said  as  he  looked 
at  the  flood,  "  this  is  certainly  the  infant  prodigy. 
Well,  let's  try  it  again." 

Had  the  plunge  been  straight  to  sudden  death  that 
broncho  would  have  risked  it  unswervingly  at  the 
urging  of  his  master.  Suvy  was  somewhat  exhausted 
by  the  trials  already  made,  in  vain.  But  into  the 
turgid  down-sweep  he  headed  with  a  newly  conjured 
vigor. 

Van  now  waited  merely  for  the  pony  to  get  started 
on  his  way,  when  he  lifted  away  from  the  saddle, 
with  the  water's  aid,  and  clung  snugly  up  to  the 
stirrup.  He  swam  with  one  hand  only.  To  keep 
himself  afloat  and  offer  no  resistance  to  the  broncho 
was  the  most  that  he  could  do,  and  the  best. 

The  struggle  was  tremendous.  Suvy  had  headed 
more  obliquely  than  before  against  the  current,  and 
having  encountered  a  greater  resistance,  with  his 
strength  somewhat  sapped,  was  toiling  like  an  en 
gine. 

Inch  by  inch,  foot  by  foot,  he  forged  his  way 
against  the  liquid  wall  that  split  upon  him.  Van 
felt  a  great  final  quiver  of  muscular  energy  shake 
the  living  dynamic  by  his  side,  as  Suvy  poured  all  his 
fine  young  might  into  one  supreme  effort  at  the  end. 
Then  he  came  to  the  landing,  got  all  his  feet  upon 
the  slope,  and  up  they  heaved  in  triumph ! 


265 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THE  CLOUDS  OF  TROUBLE  GATHER 

BY  the  route  beyond  the  river  that  Van  was  obliged 
to  choose,  the  distance  from  his  claim  to  Starlight 
was  more  than  forty  miles.  His  pony  had  no  shoes, 
and  having  never  been  ridden  far,  was  a  trifle  soft 
for  a  trip  involving  difficulties  such  as  this  mountain 
work  abundantly  afforded.  When  they  came  to 
Phonolite  Pass,  the  last  of  the  cut-offs  on  the  trail, 
Van  rode  no  more  than  a  hundred  yards  into  its 
shadows  before  he  feared  he  must  turn. 

Phonolite  is  broken  shale,  a  thin,  sharp  rock  that 
gives  forth  a  pleasant,  metallic  sound  when  struck, 
like  shattered  crockery.  For  a  mile  this  deposit 
lay  along  the  trail  across  the  width  of  the  pass. 
For  the  bare-footed  pony  there  was  cruelty  in  every 
step.  The  barrier  of  rock  was  far  more  formidable 
than  the  river  in  its  flood. 

Van  was  not  to  be  halted  in  his  object.  He  had 
a  letter  to  deliver;  he  meant  to  take  it  through, 
though  doom  itself  should  yawn  across  his  path.  The 
hour  was  late;  the  sun  was  rapidly  sinking.  Van 
pulled  up  his  broncho  and  debated. 

Absolute  silence  reigned  in  the  world  of  mountains. 

266 


0 

K^ 


The  Clouds  of  Trouble  Gather 

But  if  the  place  seemed  desolate,  it  likewise  seemed 
secure.  Nevertheless,  death  lurked  in  the  trail 
ahead.  Barger  was  there.  He  was  lying  in  the 
rocks,  concealed  where  the  chasm  was  narrow.  He 
had  ridden  four  hours — on  the  mare  Beth  had  lost — 
to  arrive  ahead  of  Van  Buren.  The  muzzle  of  a 
long  black  revolver  that  he  held  in  hand  rested  upon 
a  shattered  boulder.  His  narrow  eyes  lay  level  with 
a  rift  in  the  group  of  rocks  that  hid  him  completely 
from  view.  Van  was  in  sight,  and  the  convict's 
breath  came  quickly  as  he  waited. 

Van  dismounted  from  his  pony's  back  and  picked 
up  one  of  his  hoofs. 

"  Worn  down  pretty  flat,"  he  told  the  animal. 
"Perhaps  if  I  walk  we  can  make  it."  He  started 
on  foot  up  the  tinkling  way,  watching  the  broncho 
with  solicitude. 

Suvy  followed  obediently,  but  the  pointed  rocks 
played  havoc  with  his  feet.  He  lurched,  in  attempt 
ing  to  right  his  foot  on  one  that  turned,  and  the 
long  lassoo,  secured  to  the  saddle,  flopped  out,  fell 
back,  and  made  him  jump.  Van  halted  as  before. 
The  convict  was  barely  fifty  yards  away.  His  pistol 
was  leveled,  but  he  waited  for  a  deadlier  aim,  a 
shorter  shot. 

"Nope!  We'll  have  to  climb  the  hill,"  Van  de 
cided  reluctantly.  "  You're  a  friend  of  mine,  Suvy, 
and  even  if  you  weren't,  you'd  have  to  last  to  get 
back."  He  turned  his  back  on  death,  unwittingly, 
to  spare  the  horse  he  loved. 

267 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

Delayed  no  less  than  an  hour  by  this  enforced  re 
treat,  he  patiently  led  the  broncho  back  to  the  open 
ing  of  the  pass,  and,  still  on  foot,  led  the  steep  way 
up  over  the  mountain. 

Barger  rose  up  and  cursed  himself  for  not  having 
risked  a  shot.  He  dared  not  attempt  a  dash  upon 
his  man;  he  could  not  know  where  Van  might  again 
be  intercepted;  he  was  helpless,  baffled,  enraged. 
Half  starved,  keenly  alive  only  in  his  instinct  to 
accomplish  his  revenge,  the  creature  was  more  like 
a  hunted,  retaliating  animal  than  like  a  man.  He 
had  sworn  to  even  the  score  with  Van  Buren ;  he  was 
not  to  be  deflected  from  his  course.  But  to  get 
his  man  here  was  no  longer  possible.  The  horse 
Beth  had  lost,  now  in  the  convict's  possession,  was 
all  but  famished  for  water,  not  to  mention  food. 
There  was  nothing  to  chose  but  retreat  towards 
the  river,  to  the  northward,  where  the  mountains 
might  yet  afford  an  ambush  as  Van  was  returning 
home. 

Far  away  in  the  mountains,  at  the  "  Laughing 
Water"  claim,  while  the  sun  was  setting  on  a  scene 
of  labors,  all  but  concluded  for  the  day,  the  group 
of  surveyors,  with  Lawrence  in  charge,  appeared 
along  the  southern  ridge. 

Gettysburg,  Napoleon,  and  Dave  were  still  in  the 
water  by  the  sluices.  They  were  grimed,  soiled  with 
perspiration,  wearied  by  the  long,  hard  day  of  toil. 
Shovel  in  hand  old  Gettysburg  discovered  the  men 
with  an  instrument  who  trekked  along  the  outside 

268 


The  Clouds  of  Trouble  Gather 

edge  of  the  claim.  Chain-man,  rod-man,  and  Law 
rence  with  his  shining  theodolite,  set  on  its  three 
slender  legs,  they  were  silhouetted  sharply  against 
the  evening  sky.  Their  movements  and  their  pres 
ence  here  were  beyond  the  partners'  comprehension. 

It  was  Gettysburg  who  climbed  up  the  slope,  and 
anchored  himself  in  their  path. 

"  What  you  doin'  ?  "  he  said  to  the  rod-man  pres 
ently,  when  that  tired  individual  approached  and 
continued  on  his  way. 

"  What  does  it  look  like — playing  checkers  ?  "  said 
the  man.  "  Can't  the  Government  do  nuthin' — run 
no  county  line  ner  nuthin'  without  everybody  sittin' 
up  to  notice  ?  " 

No  less  than  fifty  men  they  had  met  that 
day  had  questioned  what  the  Government  was 
doing.  The  "  county  line  "  suggestion  had  been 
the  only  hint  vouchsafed — and  that  had  sufficed  to 
allay  the  keenest  suspicion. 

"  That  all?  "  said  Gettysburg,  and,  watching  as 
he  went,  he  slowly  returned  to  his  partners.  His 
explanation  was  ample.  The  surveyors  proceeded 
on. 

Meantime,  in  absolute  ignorance  of  all  that  was 
happening  on  his  property,  Van  continued  towards 
Starlight  unmolested.  An  hour  after  sundown  he 
rode  to  the  camp,  inquired  his  way  to  the  rough- 
board  shack,  where  Kent  was  lying  ill,  and  was  met 
at  the  door  by  a  stranger,  whom  Glen  had  employed 
as  cook  and  "  general  nurse." 

269 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

Bostwick  was  there.  He  remained  unseen.  His 
instructions  were  imperative — and  the  "  nurse  "  had 
no  choice  but  to  obey. 

"  Of  course,  Kent's  here,"  he  admitted,  in  response 
to  Van's  first  question.  "  He  can't  see  no  one,  neither 
— no  matter  who  it  is." 

"  I've  brought  a  letter  from  his  sister,"  Van  ex 
plained.  "He's  got  to  have  it,  and  have  it  now. 
If  he  wishes  to  send  any  answer  back,  I'm  here  to 
take  it." 

The  "  nurse  "  looked  him  over. 

"  The  orders  from  the  doctor  is  no  visitors ! "  he 
said.  "  And  that  goes.  If  you  want  to  leave  the 
letter,  why  you  kin." 

Van  produced  the  letter. 

"  If  the  man's  as  ill  as  that,  I  have  no  desire  to 
butt  in  for  an  interview,"  he  said.  "  Oblige  me  by 
ascertaining  at  your  earliest  convenience  whether  or 
not  I  may  be  of  service  to  Mr.  Kent  in  returning  his 
reply."  ' 

The  man  looked  bewildered.  He  received  the  let 
ter,  somewhat  dubiously,  and  disappeared.  Van 
waited.  The  reception  was  not  precisely  what  he 
might  have  expected,  but,  for  the  matter  of  that, 
neither  had  the  trip  been  altogether  what  he  might 
have  chosen. 

It  was  fully  twenty  minutes  before  the  nurse  re 
appeared. 

"  He  was  just  woke  up  enough  to  say  thank  you 
and  wants  to  know  if  you'll  oblige  him  with  the  favor 

270 


The  Clouds  of  Trouble  Gather 

of  takin'  his  hand-write  back  to  his  sister  in  the 
mornin'?  " 

Van  looked  him  over  steadily.  After  all,  the  man 
within  might  be  utterly  sick  and  weak.  His  request 
was  natural.  And  the  service  was  for  Beth. 

"  Certainly,"  he  said.  "  I'll  be  here  at  seven  in 
the  morning." 

Starlight  was  nearly  deserted.  Gratified  to  dis 
cover  sufficient  food  and  bedding  for  himself  and  his 
pony,  Van  made  no  complaint. 

At  six  in  the  morning  he  was  rousing  up  the  black 
smith,  fortunately  not  yet  gone  to  join  the  reserva 
tion  rush.  Suvy  was  shod,  and  at  seven  o'clock  he 
and  Van  were  again  at  Glenmore's  cabin. 

His  man  was  in  waiting.  In  his  hand  he  held  an 
envelope,  unsealed. 

"  Mr.  Kent's  asleep,  but  here's  his  hand-write  to 
his  sister,"  he  said.  "  He  wants  you  to  read  it  out 
before  you  hike." 

Van  received  the  envelope,  glanced  at  the  man  in 
quiringly,  and  removed  a  single  sheet  of  paper.  It 
was  not  a  note  from  Glen ;  it  appeared  to  be  the  final 
page  of  Beth's  own  letter  to  her  brother.  Van  knew 
the  strong,  large  chirography.  His  eye  ran  swiftly 
over  all  the  lines. 

" — so  I  felt  I  ought  to  know  about  things,  and  let 
you  know  of  what  is  going  on.  There  is  more  that 
I  cannot  tell  you.  I  wrote  you  much  in  my  former 
letter — much,  I  mean,  about  the  man  who  will  carry 
this  letter,  so  unsuspiciously — the  man  I  shall  yet 

271 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

repay  if  it  lies  within  my  power.  For  the  things 
he  has  done — and  for  what  he  is — for  what  he  repre 
sents — this  is  the  man  I  hate  more  than  anything 
or  anyone  else  in  the  world.  You  would  understand 
me  if  you  knew  it  all — all !  Let  him  carry  some  word 
from  you  to  Your  loving  sister,  BETH." 

Van  had  read  and  comprehended  the  full  signifi 
cance  of  the  lines  before  he  realized  some  error  had 
been  made — that  this  piece  of  Beth's  letter  had  been 
placed  by  mistake  in  the  envelope  for  him  to  take, 
instead  of  the  letter  Glen  had  written. 

He  did  not  know  and  could  not  know  that  Bost- 
wick,  within,  by  the  sick  man's  side,  had  kept  Glen 
stupid  and  hazy  with  drugs,  that  the  one  word 
"  hate  "  had  been  "  love  "  on  the  sheet  he  held  in  his 
hand  till  altered  by  the  man  from  New  York,  or 
that  something  far  different  from  an  utterly  despica 
ble  treachery  towards  himself  had  been  planned  in 
Beth's  warm,  happy  heart. 

The  thing,  in  its  enormity,  struck  him  a  blow  that 
made  him  reel,  for  a  moment,  till  he  could  grasp  at 
his  self-control.  He  had  made  no  sign,  and  he  made 
none  now  as  he  folded  the  sheet  in  its  creases. 

"I'm  afraid  you  made  some  mistake,"  he  said. 
"  This  is  not  the  note  from  Mr.  Kent.  Perhaps  you 
will  bring  me  the  other." 

"  What?  "  said  the  man,  unaware  of  the  fact  that 
Bostwick  had  purposely  arranged  this  scheme  for 
putting  the  altered  sheet  in  Van  Buren's  hands. 
"  What's  that?  "  He  glanced  at  the  sheet  in  genu- 

272 


The  Clouds  of  Trouble  Gather 

ine  surprise.  "  Keerect,"  he  said.  "  I'll  go  and 
git  you  the  letter." 

Van  mounted  his  horse.  His  face  had  taken  on 
a  chiseled  appearance,  as  if  it  had  been  cut  in  stone. 
He  had  ridden  here  through  desert  heat  and  flood,  for 
this — to  fetch  such  a  letter  as  this,  to  a  man  he 
had  never  seen  nor  cared  to  see,  and  whose  answer 
he  had  promised  to  return. 

He  made  no  effort  to  understand  it — why  she 
should  send  him  when  the  regular  mail  would  have 
answered  every  purpose.  The  vague,  dark  hints 
contained  in  her  letter — hints  at  things  going  on — 
things  she  could  not  tell — held  little  to  arouse  his 
interest.  A  stabbed  man  would  have  taken  more 
interest  in  the  name  of  the  maker  of  the  weapon, 
stamped  on  the  dagger's  blade,  than  did  Van  in  the 
detail  of  affairs  between  Glenmore  Kent  and  his 
sister.  Beth  had  done  this  thing,  and  he  had  fondly 
believed  her  love  was  welded  to  his  own.  She  had 
meant  it,  then,  when  she  cried  in  her  passion  that 
she  hated  him  for  what  he  had  done.  Her  anger 
that  night  upon  the  hill  by  Mrs.  Dick's  had  not 
been  jealousy  of  Queenie,  but  rage  against  himself. 
She  was  doubtless  in  love  with  Bostwick  after  all — 
and  would  share  this  joke  with  her  lover. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Luck  had  never  been 
his  friend.  By  what  right  had  he  recently  begun  to 
expect  her  smile?  And  why  had  he  continued,  for 
years,  to  believe  in  man  or  in  Fate?  All  the  mad 
ness  of  joy  he  had  felt  for  days,  concerning  Beth 

273 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

and  the  "  Laughing  Water  "  claim,  departed  as  if 
through  a  sieve.  He  cared  for  nothing,  the  claim, 
the  world,  or  his  life.  As  for  Beth — what  was  the 
use  of  wishing  to  understand? 

The  "  nurse  "  came  out  at  the  door  again,  this 
time  with  a  note  which  Bostwick  had  written,  with 
a  few  suggestions  from  Glen,  in  an  unsealed  cover 
as  before. 

"  I  told  young  Kent  you  didn't  take  no  time  to 
read  the  other,"  he  said,  holding  up  the  epistle. 
"  If  you  want  to  read  this " 

"  Thank  you,"  Van  interrupted,  taking  the  letter 
and  thrusting  it  at  once  in  his  pocket.  "  Thank 
Mr.  Kent  for  his  courtesies,  in  my  behalf."  He 
turned  and  rode  away. 


274 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

THE    TAKING    OF    THE    CLAIM 

BEFORE  six  o'clock  that  morning,  while  Van  was 
arousing  the  blacksmith,  the  reservation  madness 
broke  its  bounds.  Twenty-five  hundred  gold-blinded 
men  made  the  rush  for  coveted  grounds. 

The  night  had  been  one  long  revel  of  drinking, 
gambling,  and  excitement.  No  one  had  slept  in  the 
reservation  town — for  no  one  had  dared.  Bawling, 
singing,  and  shouting,  the  jollier  element  had  shamed 
the  coyotes  from  the  land.  Half  a  thousand  camp 
fires  had  flared  all  night  upon  the  plain.  The  desert 
had  developed  an  oasis  of  flowing  liquors,  glaring 
lights,  and  turmoil  of  life,  lust,  and  laughter.  Good 
nature  and  bitter  antagonism,  often  hand  in  hand, 
had  watched  the  night  hours  pale. 

By  daylight  the  "  dead  line  "  of  the  reservation 
boundary — the  old,  accepted  line  that  all  had  ac 
knowledged — resembled  a  thin,  dark  battle  forma 
tion,  ready  for  the  charge.  It  was  a  heterogeneous 
array,  where  every  unit,  instead  of  being  one  of  an 
army  mobilized  against  a  common  foe,  was  the  enemy 
of  all  the  others,  lined  up  beside  him.  There  were 
men  on  foot,  men  on  horses,  mules,  and  burros,  men 

275 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

in  wagons,  buckboards,  and  buggies,  and  men  in  auto 
mobiles. 

At  half -past  five  the  pressure  of  greed  became  too 
great  to  bear.  A  few  unruly  stragglers,  far  down 
the  line,  no  longer  to  be  held  in  check,  bent  portions 
of  the  long  formation  inward  as  they  started  out 
across  the  land.  The  human  stampede  began  almost 
upon  the  instant.  Keepers  on  their  horses,  riding  up 
and  down,  were  swept  away  like  chips  before  a  flood. 
Scattering  wildly  over  hill  and  plain,  through 
gulches,  swales,  and  canyons,  the  mad  troop  entered 
on  the  unknown  field,  racing  as  if  for  their  lives. 

Gettysburg,  Napoleon,  and  Dave  had  watched  for 
an  hour  the  human  hedge  below  the  "  Laughing 
Water  "  claim.  They,  too,  had  been  up  since  day 
light,  intent  upon  seeing  the  fun.  They  had  eaten 
their  breakfast  at  half-past  four.  At  a  quarter 
of  six  they  returned  to  their  shack  and  began  at 
their  daily  work. 

The  cold  mountain  stream,  diverted  to  the  sluices, 
went  purling  down  over  the  riffles.  The  drip  from 
countless  negligible  leaks  commenced  in  its  monotony. 
Into  the  puddles  of  mud  and  water  the  three  old 
miners  sloshed,  with  shovels  and  picks  in  hand.  They 
were  tired  before  their  work  began.  Gettysburg, 
at  sixty-five,  had  been  tired  for  twenty-five  years. 
Nevertheless,  he  began  his  day  with  song,  his  cheery, 

Rinktum  bolly  kimo. 

They  were  only  fairly  limbered  up  when  four  active 
276 


The  Taking  of  the  Claim 

men  appeared  abruptly  on  the  property,  at  the  cor 
ners  of  the  claim,  and  began  the  work  of  putting 
up  white  location  posts,  after  knocking  others  down. 
They  were  agents  employed  by  McCoppet,  in  behalf 
of  Bostwick  and  himself. 

Napoleon  was  the  first  to  note  their  presence.  He 
was  calling  attention  to  the  nearest  man  when  a 
fifth  man  appeared  by  the  cabin.  He,  too,  had  a 
new  location  post,  or  stake,  to  be  planted  at  the 
center  of  the  claim.  He  was  not  only  armed  as 
to  weapons,  but  protruding  from  his  pocket  was 
a  wad  of  "  legal  "  documents,  more  to  be  feared  than 
his  gun. 

He  came  straight  towards  Gettysburg,  walking 
briskly. 

"  Morning,"  he  said.  "  I've  come  to  notify  you 
men  to  get  off  of  this  here  claim.  This  ground 
belongs  to  me  and  my  partners,  by  right  of  prior 
location — made  right  now." 

He  thrust  his  stake  a  little  into  the  yielding  sand 
and  had  posted  a  notice,  made  out  in  due  form,  before 
the  wet  old  workers  by  the  sluice  could  conclude  that 
the  man  had  lost  his  wits. 

"  What  you  givin'  us,  anyway  ?  "  said  Gettys 
burg,  remaining  ankle-deep  in  the  mud.  "  Don't 
you  know  this  here  is  the  '  Laughin'  Water '  claim, 
which  was  located  proper " 

"  This  claim  on  the  reservation,"  interrupted 
McCoppet's  agent.  "  The  line  was  run  out  yester 
day,  according  to  Government  instructions,  and  the 

277 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

line  takes  in  this  ground."  He  continued  at  his 
work. 

Napoleon  got  stirred  up  then  and  there. 

"  You're  a  liar !  "  he  cried  out  recklessly,  " — meta 
phorical  speakin'.  Belay  there,  my  hearty.  You 
and  your  doggone  pirate  craft " 

McCoppet  himself,  on  horseback,  came  riding  down 
the  slope. 

"  That's  enough  from  you !  "  interrupted  the  gam 
bler's  agent.  "  You  and  your  crowd  is  liable  for 
trespass,  or  Government  prosecution,  getting  on  the 
reservation  land  ahead  of  date.  This  ground  be 
longs  to  me  and  my  company,  understand,  with  every 
thing  on  it — and  all  the  gold  you've  took  out !  And 
all  you  take  away  is  your  personal  effects — and  you 
take  'em  and  git,  right  now !  " 

"  Now  hold  on,"  said  Gettysburg,  dazed  by  what 
he  heard.  "  I  seen  that  Government  surveyor  cuss. 
He  said  he  was  only  running  out  a  county  line." 

McCoppet  took  the  case  in  hand,  as  he  halted  by 
the  boxes. 

"  Now,  boys,  don't  waste  your  time  in  argument," 
he  said.  "  You've  made  a  mistake,  that's  all.  Take 
my  advice  and  hike  to  the  reservation  now,  before 
the  gang  stakes  everything  in  sight.  You  can't 
go  up  against  the  law,  and  you've  done  too  much 
illegal  work  already." 

"  Illegal?  "  cried  Napoleon.  "  You're  a  liar,  Opal. 
Ain't  mad,  are  you?  I've  drunk  at  your  saloon, 
and  you  know  this  claim  belongs  to  Van  and  us ! " 

278 


The  Taking  of  the  Claim 

"Don't  I  say  you've  made  a  mistake?"  repeated 
the  gambler.  "  I  don't  hold  any  feelings  about  it. 
Nobody  was  on  for  a  sure  thing  about  the  reserva 
tion  line  till  Lawrence  run  it  out.  We  had  suspicions, 
from  a  study  of  the  maps,  but  it  took  the  Govern 
ment  surveyor  to  make  the  matter  certain.  It's  a 
cinch  you're  on  the  reservation  land.  You  can  cop 
per  all  your  rights,  and  play  to  win  the  bet  this 
claim  belongs  to  me — and  everything  else  that's  any 
good.  Now  don't  stop  to  talk.  Go  to  Lawrence 
for  Government  facts — and  git  a-going  pronto." 

Gettysburg  was  pulling  down  his  sleeves.  Old  age 
had  suddenly  claimed  him  for  its  own.  The  song 
had  dried  from  his  heart,  and  the  light  of  his  won 
derful  youth  and  hope  departed  from  his  eye.  Dave 
was  too  stunned  to  think.  All  three  felt  the  weight 
of  conviction  sink  them  in  the  chilling  mire.  The 
survey  of  the  day  before  made  doubt  impossible. 

Gettysburg  looked  at  the  boxes,  the  pits  they  had 
dug,  the  water  running  over  the  riffles,  behind  which 
lay  the  gold. 

"  I  wish  Van  was  to  home,"  he  said.  "  He'd 
know." 

Their  helplessness  without  the  absent  Van  was  com 
plete.  In  the  game  of  life  they  were  just  old  boys 
who  would  never  become  mature. 

"Van  Buren  couldn't  do  no  good,"  McCoppet  as 
sured  them.  "  This  ain't  a  matter  of  wrangling  or 
fighting;  it's  a  matter  of  law.  If  the  law  ain't  with 
us  you'll  get  the  property  back.  Van  Buren  would 

279 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

tell  you  the  same.  He  didn't  know  the  ground  was 
reservation.  We  give  him  the  benefit  of  that.  But 
all  the  gold  you've  got  on  the  place  you'll  have  to 
leave  with  me.  You  never  had  no  rights  on  the 
Government  preserves,  and  I'm  here  ahead  of  all  the 
bunch  in  staking  it  out  at  six  o'clock,  the  legal  open 
ing  hour." 

Napoleon  started  to  speak  again,  but  glanced  at 
Gettysburg  instead.  A  bluff  was  useless,  especially 
with  Gettysburg  looking  so  utterly  defeated.  From 
his  tall,  old  partner,  Napoleon  looked  at  Dave. 

"  Can't  we  tack  somewhere?  "  he  said.  "  Couldn't 
we  hold  the  wheel  and  wait  fer  Van?  " 

Gettysburg  repeated :  "  I  wish  Van  was  to  home." 

"  Come  on,  come  on,"  McCoppet  urged,  beginning 
to  lose  his  patience.  "  If  you  think  you've  got  any 
rights,  go  to  Lawrence  and  see.  You're  trespassing 
here.  I  don't  want  to  tell  you  harsh  to  pack  your 
duds  and  hunt  another  game,  but  you  can't  stay 
here  no  longer." 

Gettysburg  hesitated,  then  slowly  came  out  of  the 
water.  He  looked  at  the  sluices  hazily. 

"  Just  gittin'  her  to  pay,"  he  said.  "  The  only 
easy  minin'  I  ever  done." 

Napoleon,  suddenly  dispirited — utterly  dispirited 
— had  nothing  more  to  say.  Slowly  and  in  broken 
order  the  three  old  cronies  wended  towards  the  cabin. 
Less  than  an  hour  later,  with  all  their  meager  treasure 
in  worldly  goods  roped  to  the  last  of  Dave's  horses, 
they  quitted  the  claim,  taking  Algy,  the  Chinese  cook, 

280 


The  Taking  of  the  Claim 

along.  They  were  homeless  wanderers  with  no  place 
in  all  the  world  to  turn.  Without  Van  they  were 
utterly  lost.  They  expected  him  to  come  that  day 
to  the  cove.  Therefore,  on  a  desert  spot,  not  far 
from  the  new  reservation  line,  taking  possession  of 
a  bit  of  hill  so  poor  that  no  one  had  staked  it,  they 
made  their  camp  in  the  sand  and  rocks,  to  await 
Van's  pleasure  in  returning. 


281 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

THE  MEETINGS  OF  TWO  STRONG  MEN 

MATT  BARGER,  riding  in  the  night,  intent  upon 
nothing  save  the  chance  to  deal  out  his  vengeance 
to  Van  Buren,  had  camped  beside  the  river,  at  the 
turn  where  Van  and  Beth  had  skirted  the  bank  to 
the  regular  fording  below.  The  convict's  horse, 
which  Beth  had  lost,  was  tethered  where  the  water 
way  had  encouraged  a  meager  growth  of  grass.  Bar- 
ger  himself  had  eaten  a  snake  and  returned  to  a 
narrow  defile  in  the  range,  where  his  ambush  could 
be  made. 

To  insure  himself  against  all  misadventure  he 
rolled  a  mass  of  boulders  down  the  hill,  to  block 
the  trail.  His  barrier  was  crude  but  efficient. 
Neither  man  nor  horse  could  have  scaled  it  readily, 
and  the  slopes  on  either  side  were  not  only  well-nigh 
perpendicular,  they  were  also  built  of  crumbling 
stone  that  broke  beneath  the  smallest  weight.  He 
labored  doggedly,  persistently,  despite  his  half- 
starved  condition,  and  when  he  had  finished  he  looked 
to  his  gun,  proceeded  down  the  trail  some  fifty  yards 
or  more,  climbed  the  slope,  and  there  in  the  rocks, 
where  the  walls  gave  way  to  a  sandy  acclivity,  con 
cealed  himself  to  wait. 

282 


The  Meetings  of  Two  Strong  Men 

The  sun  at  noon  found  Van  a  mark  for  punish 
ment.  The  day  was  the  hottest  of  the  season.  -  The 
earth  and  rocks  irradiated  heat  that  danced  in  the 
air  before  him.  All  the  world  was  vibrant,  the  atmos 
phere  a  shimmer,  as  if  in  very  mockery  of  the 
thoughts  that  similarly  rose  and  gyrated  in  his  brain. 
His  horse  was  suffering  for  water.  The  river  was 
still  an  hour  away,  so  steep  was  the  climb  through 
the  range. 

The  trail  he  would  gladly  have  avoided,  had  such 
a  course  been  practical.  He  had  ridden  here  with 
Beth,  and  therefore  the  mockery  was  all  the  more 
intense.  His  inward  heat  and  the  outward  heat 
combined  to  make  him  savage.  There  was  nothing, 
however,  on  which  to  vent  his  feelings.  Suvy  he 
loved.  Perhaps,  he  reflected,  the  horse  was  his  one 
faithful  friend.  Certainly  the  broncho  toiled  most 
willingly  across  the  zone  of  lifelessness  to  bear  him 
on  his  way. 

Up  through  the  narrowing  walls  of  sand  and  ada 
mant  they  slowly  ascended.  Barger  saw  them  once, 
far  down  the  trail,  then  lost  them  again  as  they 
rounded  a  spur  of  the  shimmering  hillside,  coming 
nearer  where  he  lay.  He  was  up  the  slope  a  con 
siderable  distance — farther  than  he  meant  to  risk  a 
shot.  His  breath  came  hard  as  he  presently  beheld 
Van  Buren  fairly  entering  the  trap. 

Van's  head  had  fallen  forward  on  his  breast.  He 
looked  at  nothing.  His  face  was  set  and  hard.  Bar 
ger  raised  his  pistol,  sighted  down  the  barrel — and 

283 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

repressed  the  impulse  to  fire  as  the  horseman  came 
onward,  unsuspiciously. 

No  sooner  was  Van  around  the  turn,  where  in  less 
than  a  minute  he  would  find  his  progress  blocked, 
than  Barger  arose  and  ran  with  all  his  might  down 
the  slope. 

He  let  out  a  yell  of  exultation  as  he  came  to  the 
trail.  Van  turned  in  his  saddle  instantly,  behold 
ing  the  man  in  the  pass.  He  knew  that  sinister 
form. 

His  pony  had  bounded  forward,  frightened  by  the 
cry.  Down  went  Van's  hand  to  his  own  revolver, 
and  the  gun  came  up  cocked  for  action. 

One  glance  he  cast  up  the  trail  ahead — and  saw 
through  Barger's  trick.  The  cul  de  sac  was  per 
fect,  and  the  convict  had  halted  to  fire. 

It  made  a  singular  picture  on  Van  Buren's  retina 
— that  gaunt,  savage  being,  hairy,  wild  of  eye,  in 
stinct  with  hatred  and  malice,  posing  awkwardly,  and 
the  sun-lit  barrel  of  polished  steel,  just  before  its 
yawning  muzzle  belched  lead  and  a  cloud  and  a  roar 
ing  detonation. 

The  bullet  went  wide,  and  Barger  fired  again, 
quickly,  but  more  steadily.  That  one  landed.  It 
got  Van  just  along  the  arm,  burning  in  a  long, 
shallow  wound  that  barely  brought  the  blood. 

Van's  gun  was  down,  despite  Suvy's  panic  of 
cavortings.  He  pulled  the  trigger.  The  hammer 
leaped  two  ways,  up  and  back — but  the  gun  made 
no  report,  no  buck,  no  cloud  to  answer  Barger's. 

284 


The  Meetings  of  Two  Strong  Men 

The  cartridges,  subjected  to  all  that  water  of  the 
day  before,  were  worthless. 

The  third  of  Barger's  shots  was  fired  from  a  closer 
range,  as  the  eager  creature  closed  in  upon  his 
enemy.  It  let  the  daylight  enter  Van's  hat,  near 
the  top. 

Van  had  snapped  every  shell  in  his  weapon,  with 
amazing  rapidity — to  no  avail.  The  cylinder  had 
flung  around  like  a  wheel,  but  the  sounds  were  those 
of  a  toy. 

Barger  was  steadied  in  his  tracks  for  better  marks 
manship.  He  had  heard  that  succession  of  metallic 
snaps ;  he  knew  he  had  Van  Buren  at  his  mercy. 
Three  of  his  shots  remained  unfired,  and  a  second, 
unused  pistol  in  his  belt,  with  more  ammunition.  The 
fellow  even  smiled  as  he  was  aiming. 

There  was  one  thing  to  do — and  Van  did  it.  He 
leaped  his  broncho  clean  against  the  wall,  then 
spurred  him  straight  for  Barger.  The  shot  that 
split  the  air  again  was  splattered  on  the  rocks.  Be 
fore  the  convict  could  make  ready  to  avoid  the  charge, 
Suvy  was  almost  upon  him.  He  partially  fell  and 
partially  leaped  a  little  from  the  broncho's  path, 
but  was  struck  as  the  pony  bounded  by. 

He  yelled,  for  his  leg  was  trampled  and  hurt 
by  the  pressure  of  Suvy's  shoe,  nevertheless  he  scram 
bled  to  his  feet  at  once,  and  fired  wildly  at  his 
man. 

He  emptied  his  gun,  drew  the  other,  and  ran,  too 
eager  for  his  deed  of  revenge  to  halt  and  take  a 

285 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

steady  aim.  A  bullet  punctured  the  broncho's  ear, 
and  the  blood  flew  back  upon  Van. 

They  were  past  the  walls  in  the  briefest  time,  and 
Van  attacked  the  slope.  Barger  came  after,  yelling 
in  rage.  He  tripped,  and  his  hurt  leg  dropped  him 
down. 

Already  wearied,  and  famished  for  drink,  Suvy 
nevertheless  rose  to  the  needs  of  the  moment  with  a 
strength  incredible.  He  scaled  that  sandy,  treach 
erous  slope  like  an  engine  built  for  the  purpose.  It 
was  love,  pure  love  for  the  master  on  his  back,  that 
steeled  the  mighty  sinews  in  his  body. 

Two  shots  and  two  bullets  from  below  proclaimed 
renewed  activities  where  Barger  was  once  more  on 
his  feet.  But  the  man  had  lost  too  much  ground 
to  recover  his  advantage.  He  knew  that  Van  Buren, 
with  a  horse  like  that,  could  win  the  high  ridge  and 
escape. 

He  raged ;  he  cursed  himself  and  his  God,  for  this 
second  failure  of  his  deed.  Then  once  again  he 
abruptly  thought  of  a  chance  whereby  to  redeem 
his  galling  failures.  His  man  on  the  horse  would 
be  more  than  an  hour  in  reaching  the  river  by  the 
slopes.  A  man  on  foot  could  beat  him  there,  and 
beat  him  across  to  the  farther  side,  from  which  to 
attack  with  surer  aim — from  the  cover  of  the  willows 
by  the  ford.  The  flood  had  subsided.  This  Barger 
knew.  The  water  was  hardly  knee  high  on  a  man; 
and  better  than  all,  Van  Buren  would  scarcely  dream 
of  such  a  plan  as  within  the  range  of  possibilities. 

286 


The  Meetings  of  Two  Strong  Men 

Laboriously,  in  a  fever  of  impatience,  Barger  made 
shift,  after  strenuous  work,  to  climb  his  barrier  of 
rock.  Then  up  to  the  summit  of  the  trail  he  sped, 
and  down  on  the  farther  side. 

Meantime  Van,  disgusted  with  himself  for  riding 
away  from  a  fight,  could  only  revile  his  useless  gun 
and  excuse  himself  a  trifle  because  of  his  defenseless- 
ness.  The  skirmish  had  served  to  arouse  him,  how 
ever,  and  for  that  he  was  thankful  to  the  convict 
who  had  waited  in  the  pass. 

Then  he  wondered  how  it  came  at  all  that  Matt 
should  have  thus  been  lying  there  in  wait.  The 
fellow  must  have  been  informed,  to  prepare  so  elab 
orate  a  trap.  It  hardly  seemed  as  if  a  plot  against 
his  life  could  explain  this  trip  that  Beth  had  desired 
him  to  take.  He  could  scarcely  credit  a  thing  so 
utterly  despicable,  so  murderous,  to  her,  yet  for  what 
earthly  reasons  had  she  sent  him  on  the  trip  with  a 
letter  the  stage  could  have  carried? 

The  thing  was  preposterous  !  No  woman  on  earth 
could  have  sanctioned  an  alliance  with  Barger.  But 
— what  of  Bostwick — the  man  who  had  spent  a  por 
tion  of  his  time  with  the  liberated  convicts?  A 
revenge  like  this  would  appeal  to  him,  would  seem 
to  him  singularly  appropriate.  Beth  could  have 
lent  her  assistance  to  the  plan  without  guilty  knowl 
edge  of  an  outcome  such  as  this,  and  Bostwick — Beth 
knew  that  Barger  was  Van's  enemy.  He  had  told 
her  so  himself.  Facts  were  facts.  Her  letter  to 
Glen  revealed  her  state  of  mind — and  here  was  this 

287 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

attack,  a  planned  attack,  proving  conclusively  that 
Barger  had  been  prepared  beforehand  with  knowledge 
of  the  trip. 

From  having  been  depressed  before,  Van  was  made 
thoroughly  angry.  The  whole  thing  was  infamous, 
dastardly — and  Beth  could  not  be  acquitted. 
Strangely  enough,  against  the  convict,  Barger,  the 
horseman  felt  no  wrath.  Barger  had  a  grievance, 
howsoever  mistaken,  that  was  adequate.  He  was 
following  his  bent  consistently.  He  had  made  his 
threat  in  the  open ;  he  must  plan  out  his  work  accord 
ing  to  his  wits.  He  was  simply  a  hunted  beast, 
who  turned  upon  his  hunters. 

It  was  Bostwick  on  whom  Van  concentrated  a 
rising  heat — and  he  promised  the  man  would  find 
things  warm  in  camp,  and  the  fight  only  well  under 
way. 

Even  when  the  summit  was  achieved,  the  broncho 
slacked  off  nothing  of  his  pace.  Sweat  glistened 
wetly  upon  him.  His  bleeding  ear  was  going  back 
ward  and  forward  tremulously,  as  he  listened  for  any 
word  from  Van,  and  for  anything  suspicious  before 
them.  Van  noted  a  certain  wistfulness  in  the  pony's 
demeanor. 

"  Take  it  easy,  boy,"  he  urged  in  a  voice  of  affec 
tion  that  the  broncho  understood.  "  Take  it  easy." 
He  dismounted  to  lead  the  animal  down  the  slope, 
sfnce  a  steep  descent  is  far  more  trying  on  a  ridden 
horse  than  climbing  up  the  grade.  He  halted  to 
pat  the  pony  on  the  neck,  and  give  his  nose  a  rough 

288 


The  Meetings  of  Two  Strong  Men 

caress,  then  on  they  went,  the  shadow  they  cast  the 
only  shade  upon  the  burning  hill. 

It  was  fully  an  hour  after  leaving  the  pass,  where 
Barger  had  piled  in  the  rock,  before  the  horseman 
and  his  broncho  dropped  again  in  the  trail  that  led 
onward  to  the  river.  Van  was  again  in  the  saddle. 
Alert  for  possible  surprises,  but  assured  that  his 
man  could  find  no  adequate  cover  hereabouts,  he 
emerged  from  behind  the  last  of  the  turns  all  eager 
ness  to  give  his  horse  a  drink. 

A  yell  broke  suddenly,  terribly,  on  the  desert  still 
ness.  It  came  from  Barger,  out  in  the  river,  on 
the  bar — strangely  anchored  where  he  stood. 

Van  saw  him  instantly,  saw  a  human  fantastic, 
struggling,  writhing,  twisting  with  maniacal  might, 
the  while  the  horrible  quicksand  held  him  by  the  legs, 
and  swallowed  him,  inch  by  inch. 

"  Fer  Christ's  sake — help !  "  the  creature  shrilled 
in  his  plight.  He  had  flung  away  revolvers,  cart 
ridges,  even  his  coat,  reducing  his  weight  when  the 
stuff  only  gripped  him  by  the  ankles.  He  was  half 
to  his  thighs.  He  was  sinking  to  his  waist,  and 
with  all  of  his  furious  efforts,  the  frightful  sand 
was  shuddering,  as  if  in  animal  ecstacy — some  abom 
inable  ecstacy  of  hunger,  voracious  from  long  denial, 
as  it  sucked  him  further  down. 

"  Fer  Christ's  sake,  Van  Bur  en — fer  Christ's  sake, 
man!  I'm  a  human  being,"  shrieked  the  victim  of 
the  sand.  "  Vm  a  human  being,  man !  " 

Van  had  not  hesitated  by  so  much  as  a  moment 

289 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

as  to  what  he  meant  to  do.  He  was  off  his  horse 
in  a  leap.  He  paused  for  a  second  to  looked  about 
for  any  accidental  means  of  assistance  the  place 
might  afford.  It  afforded  none.  The  man  in  the 
quicksand  continued  to  yell,  to  struggle  hopelessly, 
to  sink  in  that  shivering  pool  of  life-engulfing  stuff. 

Then  the  horseman  thought  of  his  rope,  the  raw 
hide  lasso,  always  secured  upon  his  saddle.  He 
snatched  at  the  knots  to  tear  it  loose. 

"  Don't  move — don't  struggle !  "  he  shouted  at  the 
man,  and  down  toward  the  edge  he  came  running, 
the  rope-noose  running  out  as  he  sped. 

He  dared  not  step  beyond  the  bank,  and  so  involve 
himself.  Barger  was  well  out  from  the  edge.  The 
throw  at  best  was  long  and  difficult. 

"  Hold  up  your  hands,  above  your  ahead ! "  he 
called.  "  Don't  thrash  around !  " 

The  convict  obeyed.  His  haggard,  bearded  face 
was  turned  to  Van  like  a  mask  of  horror.  The  eyes 
were  blazing  fearfully.  The  fellow's  attitude,  as 
he  held  his  hands  above  his  head,  and  continued  to 
sink,  was  a  terrible  pose  of  supplication — an  awful 
eloquence  of  prayer. 

Van  threw — and  the  cast  fell  short. 

Barger  groaned.  He  had  ceased  to  yell.  He  re 
mained  mutely  holding  up  his  hands,  while  the  cold 
abyss  crept  upward  to  his  waist — the  wet  lips  swal 
lowing,  swallowing  in  silence. 

Van  jerked  in  the  rope  with  one  impatient  gesture. 
He  coiled  it  swiftly,  but  with  nicety.  Then  round 

290 


The  Meetings  of  Two  Strong  Men 

and  round  he  swung  the  gaping  loop — and  threw 
with  all  his  strength. 

For  a  second  the  loop  hung  snake-like  in  the  air, 
above  the  convict's  head.  Then  it  fell  about  him, 
splashed  the  curdled  sand,  and  was  pulled  up  taut, 
embracing  Barger's  waist. 

"  Hoist  it  up  under  your  arms ! "  called  Van. 
"  Try  to  move  your  legs  when  I  pull ! " 

He  wasted  no  time  in  attempting  to  haul  the  con 
vict  out  himself.  He  led  his  pony  quickly  to  the  edge, 
took  two  half  hitches  of  the  rope  about  the  pommel 
of  the  saddle,  then  shouted  once  more  to  his  man. 

"  Ready,  Barger.  Try  to  kick  your  feet."  To 
the  horse  he  said :  "  Now,  Suvy,  a  strong,  steady 
pull."  And  taking  the  pony's  bit  in  hand  he  urged 
him  slowly  forward. 

It  was  wonderful,  the  comprehension  in  the  bron 
cho's  mind.  But  the  pull  was  an  awful  thing.  The 
rope  came  taut — and  began  to  be  strained,  and  Suvy 
was  sweating  as  he  labored.  Out  on  the  end  of  it, 
bitten  by  the  loop,  that  slipped  ever  tighter  about 
him,  the  human  figure  was  bent  over  sharply,  between 
the  two  contending  forces. 

He  let  out  one  yell,  for  the  pain  about  his  chest — 
then  made  no  further  sound.  The  rawhide  rope  was 
like  a  fiddle-string.  It  seemed  absurd  that  an  anchor 
so  small,  so  limber,  in  the  sand,  could  hold  so  hard 
against  the  horse.  Van  urged  a  greater  strain. 
He  knew  that  the  rope  would  hold.  He  did  not  know 
how  much  the  man  could  bear  before  something 

291 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

awful  might  occur.     There  was  nothing  else  to  do. 

It  seemed  a  time  interminable.  No  one  made 
a  sound.  The  queer,  distorted  figure  out  in  the 
stream  could  have  uttered  no  sound  to  save  his  life. 
The  silence  was  beginning  to  be  hideous. 

Then  an  inch  of  the  rope  came  landward,  as  the 
broncho  strained  upon  it.  The  anchor  had  started 
from  its  hold. 

"  Now !  now ! "  said  Van,  and  with  quick,  skillful 
urging  he  caught  at  the  slight  advantage. 

Like  an  old,  half-buried  pile,  reluctant  to  budge 
from  its  bed  in  sand  and  ooze,  the  human  form  was 
slowly  dragged  from  the  place.  No  corpse,  rudely 
snatched  from  its  grave,  could  have  been  more  help 
lessly  inert — more  stretched  out  of  all  living  sem 
blance  to  a  man. 

Across  the  firmer  sand,  and  through  a  lagoon 
of  water,  Barger  was  hurriedly  drawn.  The  pony 
was  halted  when  the  man  was  at  the  bank,  and  back 
to  the  convict  Van  went  running,  to  loosen  the  bite 
of  the  noose. 

Barger  lay  prostrate  on  the  earth,  his  eyes  dully 
blinking  in  the  sun.  His  feet  were  bare.  They 
had  slipped  from  his  boots,  which  were  buried  beyond 
in  the  sand.  His  face  had  taken  on  a  hue  of  death. 
From  hair  to  his  ankles  he  was  shockingly  emaciated 
— a  gaunt,  wasted  figure,  motionless  as  clay. 

Van  fetched  a  pint  of  water  in  his  hat.  He 
sprinkled  it  roughly  in  the  convict's  face,  and,  prop 
ping  up  his  head,  helped  him  to  take  a  drink. 

292 


No  corpse  snatched  from  its  grave  could  have  been  more 
helplessly  inert. 

Page  2S 


The  Meetings  of  Two  Strong  Men 

Barger  could  not  lift  a  hand,  or  utter  a  word. 
Van  recoiled  the  rope,  secured  it  on  the  saddle,  then 
sat  down  to  await  the  man's  recovery.  It  was  slow. 
Barger's  speech  was  the  first  returning  function. 
It  was  faint,  and  weak,  and  blasphemous. 

"  It's  hell,"  he  said,  "  when  God  Almighty  turns 
agin  a  man.  Ain't  the  sheriffs  enough — without  a 
thing  like  that  ?  "  His  thumb  made  a  gesture  to 
wards  the  river,  which  he  cursed  abominably — cursing 
it  for  a  trap,  a  seeming  benefit,  here  in  the  desert, 
ready  to  eat  a  man  alive. 

Van  made  no  reply.  He  rather  felt  the  man  was 
justified — at  least  in  some  opinions.  Towards  Bar 
ger  he  felt  no  anger,  but  rather  a  pity  instead. 

After  a  time  the  convict  moved  sufficiently  to  prop 
himself  up  against  the  bank.  He  looked  at  Van 
dully.  This  was  the  man  who  had  "  sent  him  up  " 
— and  saved  him  from  the  sand.  There  was  much 
that  lay  between  them,  much  that  must  always  lie. 
He  had  no  issues  to  dodge.  There  was  nothing 
cowardly  in  Barger,  despite  his  ways. 

"  I  nearly  got  you,  up  yonder,"  he  said,  and  he 
jerked  his  thumb  towards  the  mountains,  to  indicate 
the  pass  where  he  and  Van  had  met  an  hour  before. 

Van  nodded.  "  You  sure  did.  Who  told  you  to 
look  for  me  here  ?  " 

Barger  closed  his  eyes.  "  Nothing  "doing."  He 
could  not  have  been  forced  to  tell. 

Van  smiled.  "  That's  all  right."  There  was  no 
resentment  in  the  tone. 

293 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

Barger  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"What  for  did  you  pull  me  out?  " 

"  Don't  know,"  Van  confessed.  "  Perhaps  I  hated 
to  have  the  quicksand  cheat  the  pen." 

"  Must  have  had  some  good  reason,"  agreed  the 
prostrate  man.  He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and 
then  he  added :  "  I  s'pose  I'm  your  meat." 

As  before,  Van  nodded :  "  I  reckon  you  are." 

Barger  spat.  It  was  his  first  vigorous  indication 
of  returning  strength. 

"  Someways,"  he  said,  "  I'd  rather  you'd  shoot 
me  here,  right  now,  than  send  me  back  to  the  pen. 
But  I  couldn't  stand  fer  that !  "  He  made  his  char 
acteristic  gesture  towards  the  river.  As  Van  made 
no  comment  the  fellow  concluded :  "  I  s'pose  you  need 
the  reward." 

Van  was  aware  there  was  ten  thousand  dollars  as 
a  price  on  the  convict's  head,  a  fact  which  he  some 
way  resented.  To-day,  more  than  at  any  time  within 
his  life,  he  felt  out  of  sympathy  with  law — with  man's 
law,  made  against  man. 

He  began  to  pull  off  his  boots. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  want  any  State's  reward, 
much  less  express  company  money.  Maybe  if  it 
wasn't  for  those  rewards  I'd  take  you  into  camp." 
He  inverted  his  boots  and  shook  out  a  few  grains  of 
sand. 

Barger  glanced  at  him  suspiciously. 

"  What  are  you  goin'  to  do  with  me,  then,  now 
you've  got  me  to  rights  ?  " 

294 


The  Meetings  of  Two  Strong  Men 

"  Nothing,"  said  Van,  "  nothing  this  afternoon." 
He  stood  up.  "  You  and  I  break  even,  Barger, 
understand?  Don't  take  me  wrong.  I'm  not  turn 
ing  you  loose  entirely.  You  belong  to  me.  When 
ever  I  call  for  the  joker,  Matt,  I  want  you  to  come." 

He  would  never  call,  and  he  knew  it.  He  merely 
left  the  matter  thus  to  establish  a  species  of  owner 
ship  that  Barger  must  acknowledge.  There  is  law 
of  the  State,  and  law  of  God,  and  law  of  man  to  man. 
The  latter  it  was  that  concerned  Van  Buren  now,  and 
upon  it  he  was  acting. 

Laboriously,  weakly,  Barger  arose  to  his  feet.  He 
looked  at  Van  peculiarly,  with  a  strange  light  dully 
firing  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  agree  to  that,"  he  answered  slowly.  "  I  agree 
to  that." 

He  put  out  his  hand  to  shake — to  bind  his  agree 
ment.  It  was  almost  like  offering  his  oath. 

Van  took  it,  and  gave  it  his  usual  grip. 

"  So  long,  Barger,"  he  said.  "  I  reckon  you  need 
these  boots." 

He  waved  his  hand  loosely  at  the  boots  that  lay 
upon  the  ground,  went  at  once  to  his  horse,  and 
mounted  to  his  seat. 

"The  regular  ford  of  this  river's  down  below," 
he  added  to  the  speechless  convict,  standing  there 
gaunt  and  wondering  upon  the  marge.  "  So  long." 

Barger  said  nothing.  Van  rode  away  on  the  trail 
by  the  stream,  and  was  presently  gone,  around  the 
bend. 

295 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

VAN    RUNS    AMUCK 

INSTEAD  of  turning  northward  in  the  mountain 
range  and  riding  on  to  the  "  Laughing  Water " 
claim,  Van  continued  straight  ahead  to  Goldite.  The 
letter  to  Beth  was  heavy  in  his  pocket.  Until  he 
should  rid  himself  of  its  burden  he  knew  he  should 
have  no  peace — no  freedom  to  act  for  himself. 

He  had  been  delayed.  The  sun  was  setting  when 
at  last  he  rode  his  broncho  to  the  hay-yard  in  the 
camp,  and  saw  that  he  was  fed  with  proper  care. 
Then  he  got  some  boots  and  walked  to  Mrs.  Dick's. 

Beth,  from  her  window,  looking  towards  the  sun, 
discovered  him  coming  to  the  place.  She  had  never 
in  her  life  felt  so  wildly  joyous  at  beholding  any 
being  of  the  earth.  She  had  watched  for  hours, 
counting  his  steps  across  the  desert's  desolation  one 
by  one,  tracing  his  course  from  Starlight  "  home  " 
by  all  the  signs  along  the  trail  which  she  and  he  had 
traveled  together. 

She  ran  downstairs  like  a  child.  She  had  momen 
tarily  forgotten  even  Glen.  Nothing  counted  but 
this  sight  of  Van — his  presence  here  with  herself. 
When  she  suddenly  burst  from  the  door  into  all  the 

296 


Van  Runs  Amuck 

golden  glory  of  the  sunset,  herself  as  glorious  with 
color,  warmth,  and  youth  as  the  great  day-orb  in 
the  west,  Van  felt  his  heart  give  one  tumultuous 
heave  in  his  breast,  despite  the  resentment  he  har 
bored. 

There  had  never  been  a  moment  when  her  smile 
had  been  so  radiant,  when  the  brown  of  her  eyes 
had  been  so  softly  lighted  and  glowing,  when  her 
cheeks  had  so  mirrored  her  beauty. 

How  superb  she  was,  he  said  to  himself — how  splen 
did  was  her  acting !  He  could  almost  forgive  him 
self  for  having  played  the  fool.  His  helplessness, 
his  defenselessness  had  been  warranted.  But — her 
smile  could  befuddle  him  no  more.  He  took  off  his 
hat,  with  a  certain  cold  elegance  of  grace.  His 
face  still  wore  that  chiseled  appearance  of  stone-like 
hardness. 

"  Oh ! "  she  cried,  in  her  irrepressible  happiness  of 
heart.  "  You're  home !  You're  safe !  I'm  glad  ! " 

It  was  nothing,  her  cry  that  he  was  safe.  She 
had  worried  only  for  the  desert's  customary  perils, 
but  this  he  could  not  know.  He  thought  she  referred 
to  a  possible  meeting  with  Barger.  He  was  almost 
swept  from  his  balance  by  her  look,  for  a  bright  bit 
of  moisture  had  sprung  in  her  eyes  and  her  smile  took 
on  a  tenderness  that  all  but  conquered  him  anew. 

"  I  delivered  your  letter  in  Starlight,"  he  said. 
"  I  return  your  brother's  reply." 

He  had  taken  the  letter  from  his  pocket.  He 
held  it  forth. 

297 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

She  took  it.  If  memories  of  Glen  started  rush- 
ingly  upon  her,  they  were  halted  by  something  she 
felt  in  the  air,  something  in  the  cold,  set  speech  of 
the  man  she  loved  as  never  she  had  thought  to  love 
a  creature  of  the  earth.  She  made  no  reply,  but 
stood  looking  peculiarly  upon  him,  a  question  written 
plainly  in  her  glance. 

"  If  there  is  nothing  more,"  he  added,  "  permit  me 
to  wish  you  good-day."  He  swept  off  his  hat  as 
he  had  before,  turned  promptly  on  his  heel,  and  de 
parted  the  scene  forthwith. 

She  tried  to  cry  out,  to  ask  him  what  it  meant, 
but  the  thing  had  come  like  a  blow.  It  had  not 
been  what  he  had  said,  so  much  as  the  manner  of 
its  saying — not  so  much  what  she  had  heard  as  what 
her  heart  had  felt.  A  deluge  of  ice  water,  suddenly 
thrown  upon  her,  could  scarcely  have  chilled  or 
shocked  her  more  than  the  coldness  that  had  bristled 
from  his  being. 

Wholly  at  a  loss  to  understand,  she  leaned  in 
sudden  weakness  against  the  frame  of  the  door,  and 
watched  him  disappearing.  Her  smile  was  gone. 
In  its  place  a  dumb,  white  look  of  pain  and  bewilder 
ment  had  frozen  on  her  face.  Had  not  that  some 
thing,  akin  to  anger,  which  her  nature  had  felt  to 
be  emanating  from  him  remained  so  potently  to  op 
press  her,  she  could  almost  have  thought  the  thing 
a  joke — some  freakish  mood  of  playfulness  after 
all  the  other  moods  he  had  shown.  But  no  such 
thought  was  possible.  The  glitter  in  his  eyes 

298 


Fan  Runs  Amuck 

had  been  unmistakable.  Then,  what  could  it 
mean  ? 

She  almost  cried,  as  she  stood  there  and  saw  him 
vanish.  She  had  counted  so  much  upon  this  mo 
ment.  She  had  prayed  for  his  coming  safely  back 
from  the  desert.  She  had  so  utterly  unbound  the 
fetters  from  her  love.  Confession  of  it  all  had  been 
ready  in  her  heart,  her  eyes,  and  on  her  lips.  Re 
action  smote  her  a  dulling  blow.  Her  whole  im 
pulsive  nature  crept  back  upon  itself,  abashed — like 
something  discarded,  flung  at  her  feet  ingloriously. 

"  Oh — Van ! "  she  finally  cried,  in  a  weak,  hurt 
utterance,  and  back  along  the  darkening  hall  she 
went,  her  hand  with  Glen's  crushed  letter  pressed 
hard  upon  her  breast. 

Van,  for  his  part,  far  more  torn  than  he  could 
have  believed  possible,  proceeded  down  the  street  in 
such  a  daze  as  a  drunken  man  might  experience, 
emerging  from  liquor's  false  delights  to  life's  cold, 
merciless  facts.  The  camp  was  more  emptied  than 
he  had  ever  known  it  since  first  it  was  discovered. 
Only  a  handful  of  the  reservation  stragglers  had 
returned.  The  darkness  would  pour  them  in  by 
hundreds. 

Half  way  down  the  thoroughfare  Van  paused  to 
remember  what  it  was  his  body  wanted.  It  was 
food.  He  started  again,  and  was  passing  the  bank 
when  someone  called  from  within. 

"Hello,  there— Van!"  came  the  cry.  "Hello! 
Come  in ! " 

299 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

Van  obeyed  mechanically.  The  cashier,  Rickart, 
it  was  who  had  shouted  the  summons — a  little,  gray- 
eyed,  thin-faced  man,  with  a  very  long  moustache. 

"How  are  you,  Rick?"  said  the  horseman  fa 
miliarly.  "  What's  going  on  ?  " 

"  Haven't  you  heard? — you  ?  "  interrogated  Rick- 
art.  "  I  thought  it  was  funny  you  were  loafing  along 
so  leisurely.  Didn't  you  know  to-day  was  the  day 
for  the  rush?  " 

"  I  did,"  said  Van.      "  What  about  it?  " 

"  Not  much,"  his  friend  replied,  "  except  your 
claim  has  been  jumped  by  McCoppet  and  one  J. 
Searle  Bostwick,  who  got  on  to  the  fact  that  the 
reservation  line  included  all  your  ground." 

Van  looked  his  incredulity. 

"  What's  the  joke?  "  he  said.  "  I  bite.  What's 
the  answer?  " 

"  Joke  ?  "  the  cashier  echoed.  "  Joke  ?  They  had 
the  line  surveyed  through,  yesterday,  and  Lawernce 
confirmed  their  tip.  Your  claim,  I  tell  you,  was  on 
reservation  ground,  and  McCoppet  had  his  crowd 
on  deck  at  six  o'clock  this  morning.  They  staked 
it  out,  according  to  law,  as  the  first  men  on  the 
job  after  the  Government  threw  it  open — and  there 
they  are." 

Van  leaned  against  the  counter  carelessly,  and 
looked  at  his  friend  unmoved. 

"Who  told  you  the  story?  "  he  inquired.  "Who 
brought  it  into  camp  ?  " 

"  Why  a  dozen  men — all  mad  to  think  they  never 

300 


Van  Runs  Amuck 

got  on,"  said  Rickart,  not  without  heat.  "  It's  an 
outrage,  Van!  You  might  have  fought  them  off 
if  you'd  been  on  deck,  and  made  the  location  your 
self  !  Where  have  you  been  ?  " 

Van  smiled.  The  neatness  of  the  whole  arrange 
ment  began  to  be  presented  to  his  mind. 

"  Oh,  I  was  out  of  the  way  all  right,"  he  said. 
"  My  friends  took  care  of  that." 

"  I  thought  there  was  something  in  the  wind,  all 
along,"  imparted  the  little  cashier.  "  Bostwick  and 
McCoppet  have  been  thicker  than  thieves  for  a  week. 
But  the  money  they  needed  wasn't  Bostwick's.  I 
wired  to  New  York  to  get  his  standing — and  he's 
got  about  as  much  as  a  pin.  But  the  girl  stood  in, 
you  bet!  She's  got  enough — and  dug  up  thirty 
thousand  bucks  to  handle  the  crowd's  expenses." 

Van  straightened  up  slowly. 

"The  girl?" 

"  Miss  Kent — engaged  to  Bostwick — you  ought  to 
know,"  replied  the  man  behind  the  counter.  "  She's 
put  up  the  dough  and  I  guess  she's  in  the  game, 
for  she  turned  it  all  over  like  a  man." 

Van  laughed,  suddenly,  almost  terribly. 

"  Oh,  hell,  Rick,  come  out  and  git  a  drink ! "  he 
said.  "  Here,"  as  he  noted  a  bottle  in  the  desk, 
"  give  me  some  of  that !  " 

Rickart  gave  him  the  bottle  and  a  glass.  He 
poured  a  stiff  amber  draught  and  raised  it  on  high, 
a  wild,  fevered  look  in  his  eyes. 

"  Here's  to  the  gods  of  law  and  order ! "  he  said. 

301 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"  Here's  to  faith,  hope,  and  charity.  Here's  to 
friendship,  honor,  and  loyalty.  Here's  to  the  gallant 
little  minority  that  love  their  neighbors  as  them 
selves  Give  me  perfidy  or  give  me  death!  Hurray 
for  treason,  strategy,  and  spoils ! " 

He  drank  the  liquid  fire  at  one  reckless  gulp,  and 
laughing  again,  in  ghastly  humor,  lurched  suddenly 
out  at  the  open  door  and  across  to  the  nearest 
saloon. 

Rickart,  in  sudden  apprehension  for  the  "  boy " 
he  genuinely  loved,  called  out  to  him  shrilly,  but  in 
vain.  Then  he  scurried  to  the  telephone,  rang  up 
the  office  of  the  sheriff,  and  presently  had  a  deputy 
on  the  wire. 

"  Say,  friend,"  he  called,  "  if  Bostwick  or  Mc- 
Coppet  should  return  to  camp  to-night,  warn  them 
to  keep  off  the  street.  Van  Buren's  in,  and  I  don't 
want  the  boy  to  mix  himself  in  trouble." 

"  All  right,"  came  the  answer,  "  I'm  on." 

In  less  than  an  hour  the  town  was  "  on."  Men 
returning  by  the  scores  and  dozens,  nineteen  out  of 
every  twenty  exhausted,  angered  with  disappoint 
ment,  and  clamorous  for  refreshments,  filled  the 
streets,  saloons,  and  eating  houses,  all  of  them  talk 
ing  of  the  "  Laughing  Water "  claim,  and  all  of 
them  ready  to  sympathize  with  Van — especially  at 
his  expense. 

His  night  was  a  mixture  of  wildness,  outflamings 
of  satire  on  the  virtues,  witty  defiance  of  the  fates, 
and  recklessness  of  everything  save  reference  to 

302 


Fan  Runs  Amuck 

women.  Not  a  word  escaped  his  lips  whereby  his 
keenest,  most  delighted  listener  could  have  probed  to 
the  heart  of  his  mood.  To  the  loss  of  his  claim  was 
attributed  all  his  pyrotechnics,  and  no  one,  unless 
it  was  Rickart,  was  aware  of  the  old  proverbial 
"  woman  in  the  case,"  who  had  planted  the  sting 
that  stung. 

Rickart,  like  a  worried  animal,  following  the  foot 
steps  of  his  master,  sought  vainly  all  night  to  head 
Van  off  and  quiet  him  down  in  bed.  At  two  in  the 
morning,  at  McCoppet's  gambling  hall,  where  Van 
perhaps  expected  to  encounter  the  jumpers  of  his 
claim,  the  little  cashier  succeeded  at  last  in  command 
ing  Van's  attention.  Van  had  a  glass  of  stuff  in 
his  hand — stuff  too  strong  to  be  scathed  by  all  the 
pure  food  enactments  in  the  world. 

"  Look  here,  boy,"  said  Rickart,  clutching  the 
horseman's  wrist  in  his  hand,  "  do  you  know  that 
Gettysburg,  and  Nap,  and  Dave  are  camping  on 
the  desert,  waiting  for  you  to  come  home?  " 

Van  looked  at  him  steadily.  He  was  far  from 
being  dizzied  in  his  brain.  Since  the  blow  received 
at  the  hands  of  Beth  had  not  sufficed  to  make  him 
utterly  witless,  then  nothing  drinkable  could  over 
come  his  reason. 

"  Home  ?  "  he  said.  "  Waiting  for  me  to  come 
home." 

Suddenly  wrenching  his  hand  from  Rickart's  grip 
he  hurled  the  glass  of  liquor  with  all  his  might  against 
the  mirror  of  the  bar.  The  crash  rose  high  above 

303 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

the  din  of  human  voices.  A  radiating  star  was 
abruptly  created  in  the  firmament  of  glass,  and  Van 
was  starting  for  the  door. 

The  barkeeper  scarcely  turned  his  head.  He  was 
serving  half  a  dozen  men,  and  he  said :  "  Gents, 
what's  your  poison  ?  " 

A  crowd  of  half-intoxicated  revelers  started  for 
Van  and  attempted  to  haul  him  back.  He  flung  them 
off  like  a  lot  of  pestiferous  puppies,  and  cleared  the 
door. 

He  went  straight  to  the  hay-yard,  saddled  his 
horse,  and  headed  up  over  the  mountains.  He  had 
eaten  no  dinner;  he  wanted  none.  The  fresh,  clean 
air  began  its  work  of  restoration. 

It  was  daylight  when  he  reached  the  camp  his 
partners  had  made  on  the  desert.  Napoleon  and 
Gettysburg  were  drunk.  Discouraged  by  his  long 
delay,  homeless,  and  utterly  disheartened,  they  had 
readily  succumbed  to  the  conveniently  bottled  sym 
pathy  of  friends. 

No  sooner  had  the  horseman  alighted  at  the  camp 
than  Napoleon  flung  himself  upon  him.  He  was 
weeping. 

"What  did  I  sh-sh-sh-sh-(whistle)  shay?"  he  in 
terrogated  brokenly,  "  home  from  a  foreign — 
quoth  the  r-r-r-r-r-(  whistle)  raven — NEVER 
MORE ! " 

Gettysburg  waxed  apologetic,  as  he  held  his  glass 
eye  in  his  hand. 

"  Didn't  mean   to   git  in   thish   condition,  Van — 

304 


Fan  Rum  Amuck 

didn't  go  to  do  it,"  he  imparted  confidentially.  "  Ser 
pent  that  lurks  in  the  glash." 

Van  resumed  his  paternal  role  with  a  meed  of  ready 
forgiveness. 

"  Let  him  who  hath  an  untainted  breath  cast  the 
first  bottle,"  he  said.  Even  old  Dave,  thought  sober, 
was  disqualified,  and  Algy  was  asleep. 


305 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

THE   PRIMITIVE   LAW 

BOSTWICK  and  McCoppet  had  made  ample  provision 
against  attack  at  the  claim.  Their  miners,  who 
set  to  work  at  once  to  enlarge  the  facilities  for  ex 
tracting  the  gold  from  the  ground,  were  gun-fighters 
first  and  toilers  afterward.  The  place  was  guarded 
night  and  day,  visitors  being  ordered  off  with  a 
strictness  exceptionally  rigid. 

Van  and  his  partners  were  down  and  out.  They 
had  saved  almost  nothing  of  the  gold  extracted  from 
the  sand,  since  the  bulk  of  their  treasure  had  fallen, 
by  "  right  of  law"  into  the  hands  of  the  jumpers. 

Bostwick  avoided  Van  as  he  would  a  plague.  There 
was  never  a  day  or  night  that  fear  did  not  possess 
him,  when  he  thought  of  a  possible  encounter;  yet 
Van  had  planned  no  deed  of  violence  and  could  not 
have  told  what  the  results  would  be  should  he  and 
Bostwick  meet. 

In  his  customary  way  of  vigor,  the  horseman  had 
begun  a  semi-legal  inquiry  the  first  day  succeeding 
the  rush.  He  interviewed  Lawrence,  the  Govern 
ment  representative,  since  Culver's  removal  from  the 
scene.  Lawrence  was  prepared  for  the  visit.  He 

306 


The  Primitive  Law 

expressed  his  regrets  at  the  flight  Van's  fortunes 
had  taken.  Bostwick  had  come,  he  said,  with  au 
thority  from  Washington,  ordering  the  new  survey. 
No  expectation  had  been  entertained,  he  was  sure, 
that  the  old,  "  somewhat  imaginary  "  and  "  decidedly 
vague  "  reservation  line  would  be  disturbed,  or  that 
any  notable  properties  would  be  involved.  Naturally, 
after  the  line  was  run,  establishing  the  inclusion 
of  the  "  Laughing  Water  "  claim,  and  much  other 
ground,  in  the  reservation  tract,  Mr.  Bostwick  had 
been  justified  in  summary  action.  It  was  the  law 
of  human  kind  to  reach  for  all  coveted  things. 

Van  listened  in  patience  to  the  exposition  of  the 
case.  He  studied  the  maps  and  data  as  he  might 
have  studied  the  laws  of  Confucius  written  in  their 
native  tongue.  The  thing  looked  convincing.  It 
was  not  at  all  incredible  or  unique.  It  bore  Govern 
ment  sanction,  if  not  its  trademark.  And  granting 
that  the  reservation  tract  did  actually  extend  so  far 
as  to  lap  across  the  "  Laughing  Water "  claim,  the 
right  of  an  entrant  to  locate  the  ground  and  oust 
all  previous  trespassers  after  the  legal  opening  was 
undeniable. 

Much  of  the  natural  fighting  spirit,  welded  by 
nature  into  Van's  being,  had  been  sickened  into  in 
activity  by  the  blow  succeeding  blow  received  at  the 
hands  of  Beth  Kent.  The  case  against  her  was 
complete. 

Her  letter  to  her  brother  was  sufficient  in  itself. 
The  need  for  its  delivery  in  person  to  her  brother 

307 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

he  thought  undoubtedly  a  ruse  to  get  himself  out 
of  the  way.  If  she  had  not  planned  with  the  others 
to  warn  the  convict,  Barger,  of  his  trip,  she  had 
certainly  loaned  her  money  to  Bostwick  for  his  needs 
— and  her  letter  contained  the  threat,  "  I  will  re- 
pay!" 

At  the  end  of  three  days  of  dulling  disgust  and 
helplessness,  Van  and  his  "  family "  were  camping 
in  a  tent  above  the  town  of  Goldite,  on  a  hill.  They 
were  all  but  penniless;  they  had  no  occupation,  no 
hope.  They  were  down  once  more  at  the  ladder's 
bottom  rung,  depleted  in  spirit,  less  young  than 
formerly,  and  with  no  idea  of  which  way  to  turn. 

Van  meant  to  fight,  if  the  slightest  excuse  could 
be  discovered.  His  partners  would  back  him,  with 
their  lives.  But  he  and  they,  as  they  looked  their 
prospects  fairly  in  the  face,  found  themselves  utterly 
disarmed.  Except  for  the  credit,  extended  by  friends 
of  Van,  starvation  might  have  lurked  about  their 
tent.  All  delayed  seeking  for  outside  work  while  the 
prospect  of  putting  up  a  fight  to  regain  their  prop 
erty  held  forth  a  dim  glimmer  of  hope. 

The  last  of  Van's  money  went  to  meet  a  debt — 
such  a  debt  as  he  would  not  disregard.  The  account 
was  rendered  by  a  cutter  of  stone,  who  had  carved 
upon  a  marble  post  the  single  legend: 

QUEENIE. 

This  post  was  planted  where  a  small  earth  mound 
was  raised  upon  the  hill — and  word  of  the  tribute 

308 


The  Primitive  Law 

went  the  rounds  of  the  camp,  where  everyone  else 
had  forgotten. 

The  town's  excitement  concerning  the  rush  had 
subsided  with  greater  alacrity  as  reports  came  back, 
in  rapid  procession — no  gold  on  the  reservation.  The 
normal  excitements  of  the  mining  field  resumed  where 
the  men  had  left  them  off.  News  that  Matt  Barger 
was  not  only  still  at  large,  but  preying  on  wayside 
travelers,  aroused  new  demands  for  the  sheriff's 
demonstrations  of  his  fitness  to  survive.  The  fact 
was  recalled  that  Cayuse,  the  half-breed  murderer  of 
Culver,  was  as  yet  unreported  from  the  hills. 

The  sheriff,  who  had  ridden  day  and  night,  in 
quest  of  either  of  the  "  wanted  "  men,  came  back  to 
Goldite  from  a  week's  excursion,  packed  full  of  hard 
ships,  vigilance,  and  work,  to  renew  his  force  and 
make  another  attempt.  He  offered  a  job  to  Van. 

"  There's  ten  thousand  dollars  in  Barger,"  he 
said.  "  And  I  guess  you  could  use  the  money. 
There's  nothing  but  glory  in  gittin'  Cayuse,  but  I'll 
give  you  your  pick  of  the  pair." 

That  some  half-formed  notion  of  procuring  a 
secret  survey  of  the  reservation  line,  in  his  own  be 
half,  had  occupied  Van's  thoughts  somewhat  insist 
ently,  was  quite  to  be  expected.  That  the  work 
would  prove  expensive  was  a  matter  of  course. 
Money  was  the  one  particular  thing  of  which  he  stood 
in  need.  Nevertheless,  at  the  sheriff's  suggestion  he 
calmly  shook  his  head. 

"  Thanks,  old  man.     Blood-money  wouldn't  circu- 

309 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

late  worth  a  whoop  in  my  system.  But  I  think  I 
could  land  Cayuse."  He  held  no  grudge  against 
Culver  now.  Perhaps  he  regretted  the  fuss  he  had 
made  on  the  day  of  Culver's  death.  "  I'll  take  ten 
dollars  a  day,"  he  added,  "  and  see  what  I  can  do 
about  the  Indian." 

"  I  knew  it !  I  knew  you'd  do  more  than  all  the 
gang — myself  in  the  count,"  the  sheriff  exclaimed  in 
profound  -relief.  "  I'm  beat !  I  own  it !  I  ain't 
seen  a  trace  of  that  black-headed  devil  since  I  started. 
If  you'll  fetch  him  in " 

"  Don't  promise  more  than  ten  dollars  a  day,"  Van 
interrupted.  "  If  you  do  you  can  get  him  yourself. 
I  haven't  said  I'll  fetch  him  in.  I  merely  said  per 
haps  I  could  get  him." 

"All  right,"  said  the  sheriff,  bewildered.  "All 
right.  I  don't  care  what  happens,  if  you  git  him." 

Glad,  perhaps,  to  escape  the  town — to  flee  from 
the  air  that  Beth  was  breathing,  Van  rode  off  that 
afternoon. 

He  did  not  seek  the  Indian  murderer,  nor  for  traces 
of  his  place  of  concealment.  He  went  due  west,  to 
the  nearest  Indian  camp,  on  the  now  diminished  re 
servation.  He  called  upon  a  wise  and  grave  Piute, 
as  old  as  some  of  the  hills. 

"  Captain  Sides,"  he  said,  when  the  due  formalities 
of  greeting  had  been  gratified,  "  I  want  you  to  get 
Cayuse.  He  stabbed  a  white  man,  Culver,  Govern 
ment  man — and  you  Piutes  know  all  about  it.  In 
dians  know  where  an  Indian  hides.  This  man  has 

310 


'Yesh,  he's  broke  the  law." 


Page  311 


The  Primitive  Law 

broken  the  law.  He's  got  to  pay.  I  want  your  men 
to  get  him." 

Old  Captain  Sides  was  standing  before  his  house. 
He  was  tall  and  dignified. 

"  Yesh — he's  broke  the  law,"  he  agreed.  "  Mebbe 
my  boys,  they's  get  him." 

That  was  all,  but  a  strange  thing  happened.  On 
the  following  night  four  grim  Piutes  brought  Cayuse 
from  his  mountain  retreat.  They  were  all  his  kins 
men,  uncles,  brothers,  and  cousins.  He  was  taken 
to  a  council  in  the  brush,  a  family  council  with 
Captain  Sides  as  Chieftain,  Magistrate,  and  father 
of  the  tribe.  And  a  solemn  procedure  followed. 
Cayuse  was  formally  charged  with  infraction  of  the 
law  and  asked  for  his  defense.  He  had  no  defense — 
nothing  but  justification.  He  admitted  the  killing, 
and  told  of  why  it  had  been  done.  He  had  taken  an 
eye  for  an  eye. 

"  I  have  broken  the  white  man's  law,"  he  said. 
"  The  white  man  first  broke  mine.  I'm  ready  to  pay. 
The  Indian  stands  no  show  to  get  away.  I  broke 
the  law,  and  I  am  glad.  They  want  my  life.  That's 
all  right.  That's  the  law.  But  I  don't  want  the 
white  man  to  hang  me.  That  ain't  good  Indian  way. 
My  people  can  satisfy  this  law.  They  can  shoot  me 
like  a  man.  No  white  is  going  to  hang  Cayuse,  and 
that's  all  I've  got  to  say." 

To  an  Anglo  Saxon  mind  this  attitude  is  not  to  be 
readily  comprehended.  To  the  Indian  members  of 
Cayuse's  clan  it  addressed  itself  as  wisdom,  logic, 

311 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

and  right.  The  council  agreed  to  his  demands.  The 
case,  historical,  but  perhaps  not  unique,  has  never 
been  widely  known. 

As  solemnly  as  doom  itself,  the  council  proceeded 
with  its  task.  Some  manner  of  balloting  was  adopted, 
and  immediate  members  of  the  Cayuse  totem  drew 
lots  as  to  which  must  perform  the  lawful  deed.  It 
fell  to  a  brother  of  the  prisoner — a  half-brother  only, 
to  be  accurate,  since  the  doomed  man's  father  had 
been  white. 

Together  Cayuse  and  this  kinsman  departed  from 
the  camp,  walking  forth  through  the  darkness  in  the 
brush.  They  chatted  in  all  pleasantness,  upon  the 
way.  Cayuse  could  have  broken  and  run.  He  never 
for  a  moment  so  much  as  entertained  the  thought. 

They  came  to  a  place  appropriate,  and,  still  in  all 
friendliness,  backed  by  a  sense  of  justice  and  of 
doom,  the  guiltless  brother  shot  the  half-breed  dead — 
and  the  chapter,  wrfch  the  Indians,  was  concluded. 

Van  was  gone  three  days  from  Goldite  camp.  He 
returned  and  reported  all  that  had  been  done.  He 
had  seen  the  executed  man.  An  even  thirty  dollars 
he  accepted  for  his  time,  and  with  it  bought  food  for 
his  partners. 


312 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

BETH   MAKES   DEMANDS 

BETH  KENT,  while  the  camp  was  writing  its  fever 
ish  annals,  had  undergone  emotions  in  the  whole  varied 
order  of  the  gamut.  She  had  felt  herself  utterly 
deserted  and  utterly  unhappy.  She  had  hoped 
against  hope  that  Van  would  come,  that  something 
might  explain  away  his  behavior,  that  she  herself 
might  have  an  opportunity  of  ascertaining  what  had 
occurred. 

One  clew  only  was  vouchsafed  her  puzzling  mind: 
Searle  had  actually  gone  to  Glen  at  last,  had  been 
there  at  the  hour  of  Van's  arrival,  and  had  written 
Glen's  letter  to  herself.  Some  encounter  between 
the  men  had  doubtless  transpired,  she  thought, 
and  Van  had  been  poisoned  against  her.  What  else 
could  it  mean,  his  coldness,  his  abrupt  departure, 
after  all  that  had  been,  and  his  stubborn  silence 
since? 

The  letter  from  Glen  had  been  wholly  unsatisfac 
tory.  Bostwick  had  written  it,  he  said,  at  Glen's 
dictation.  It  echoed  the  phrases  that  Searle  him 
self  had  employed  so  persistently,  many  of  them 
grossly  mendacious,  as  Beth  was  sufficiently  aware. 

313 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

Her  effort  had  been  futile,  after  all.  She  was  not 
at  all  certain  as  to  Glen's  condition;  she  was  wholly 
in  the  dark  in  all  directions. 

On  the  day  succeeding  the  reservation  rush  she 
received  the  news  at  Mrs.  Dick's,  not  only  that 
Van  had  lost  his  claim,  and  that  McCoppet  and 
Searle  were  its  latest  owners,  but  also  that 
Van  had  run  amuck  that  night  after  leaving  her 
self. 

Some  vague,  half -terrifying  intuition  that  Searle 
was  engaged  in  a  lawless,  retaliatory  enterprise  crept 
athwart  her  mind  and  rendered  her  intensely  uneasy. 
Her  own  considerable  sum  of  money  might  even  be 
involved  in — she  could  not  fathom  what.  Something 
that  lay  behind  it  all  must  doubtless  explain  Van's 
extraordinary  change.  It  was  maddening;  she  felt 
there  must  be  something  she  could  do — there  must 
be  something!  She  was  not  content  to  wait  in  utter 
helplessness  for  anything  more  to  happen — anything 
more  that  served  to  wreck  human  happiness,  if  not 
very  life  itself! 

She  felt,  moreover,  she  had  a  right  to  know  what 
it  was  affecting  Van.  He  had  come  unbidden  into 
her  life.  He  had  swept  her  away  with  his  riotous 
love.  He  had  taught  her  new,  almost  frightening 
joys  of  existence.  He  had  drawn  upon  her  very 
soul — kissing  into  being  a  nature  demanding  love 
for  love.  He  had  taken  her  all  for  himself,  despite 
her  real  resistance.  She  could  not  cease  to  love 
so  quickly  as  he.  She  had  rights,  acquired  in  sur- 

314 


Beth  Makes  Demands 

render — at  least  the  right  to  know  what  evil  thing 
had  wrought  its  way  upon  him. 

But  fret  as  she  might,  and  burn  as  she  might,  with 
impatience,  love-created  anger  and  resentment  of 
some  infamy,  doubtless  practiced  on  them  both,  there 
was  nothing  in  the  world  she  could  do. 

She  wrote  again  to  Glen  and  had  the  letter  posted 
in  the  mail.  She  asked  for  information.  Was  he 
better?  Could  he  come  to  Goldite  soon?  Had  he 
met  Mr.  Van?  Had  he  understood  that  confession 
in  her  letter?  Had  he  really  purchased  a  mine,  with 
Searle,  or  had  he,  by  some  strange  mischance,  con 
cerned  himself  with  the  others  in  taking  the  u  Laugh 
ing  Water  "  claim? 

She  explained  that  she  was  wholly  in  the  dark,  that 
worry  was  her  only  companion.  She  begged  him 
to  come,  if  traveling  were  possible,  and  told  of  her 
effort  to  see  him. 

That  Bostwick  had  opened  and  read  her  letter  to 
Glen,  suppressing  that  final  page,  together  with  sun 
dry  questions  and  references  to  himself,  she  could 
never  have  dreamed.  It  is  ignorance  always  that 
baffles,  as  we  grope  our  way  in  the  world.  And  Beth 
had  not  yet  entirely  lost  all  trust  in  Bostwick  himself. 

Searle,  in  the  meantime,  having  gone  straight  to 
the  "  Laughing  Water  "  claim  from  Glenmore  Kent, 
had  remained  three  days  away  from  Goldite  and  had 
taken  no  time  to  write.  When  he  came  at  last  the 
girl's  suspicions  were  thoroughly  aroused.  That 
the  man  was  a  dangerous  trickster,  a  liar,  and  per- 

315 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

haps  a  scoundrel  she  was  rapidly  becoming  con 
vinced. 

He  arrived  at  the  house  in  the  late  afternoon  while 
Mrs.  Dick  and  Beth  were  engaged  together  in  the 
dining-room,  sewing  at  a  quilt.  The  meeting  was 
therefore  a  quiet  one  and  Beth  escaped  any  lover-like 
demonstrations  he  might  otherwise  have  made. 

Mrs.  Dick,  in  her  frank  dislike  of  Bostwick,  finally 
carried  her  work  upstairs. 

"  Well,  well,  sweetheart ! "  Bostwick  exclaimed. 
"You  must  have  heard  the  news,  of  course.  I  ex 
pect  your  congratulations !  " 

He  rose  and  approached  her  eagerly.  She  was 
standing.  She  moved  a  chair  and  placed  herself 
behind  it. 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  the  claim  you've — taken," 
she  said.  "  You're  elated  over  that  ?  " 

"Good  Lord!  aren't  you?"  he  answered.  "It's 
the  biggest  thing  I've  ever  done!  It's  worth  a 
million,  maybe  more — that  '  Laughing  Water  '  claim ! 
And  to  think  that  Van  Buren,  the  romantic  fool,  put 
ting  marble  slabs  on  the  graves  of  the  demi-monde, 
and  riding  about  like  a  big  tin  toreador,  should  have 
bought  a  property  on  reservation  ground,  and  lost 
it,  gold  and  all !  " 

His  relish  in  the  triumph  was  fairly  unctuous.  His 
jaw  seemed  to  oscillate  in  oil  as  he  mouthed  his  con 
tempt  of  the  horseman. 

Beth  flamed  with  resentment.  Her  love  for  Van 
increased  despite  her  judgment,  despite  her  wish,  as 

316 


Beth  Makes  Demands 

she  heard  him  thus  assailed.  She  knew  he  had  placed 
a  stone  on  Queenie's  grave.  She  admired  the  fearless 
friendliness  of  the  action — the  token  whereby  he  had 
linked  the  unfortunate  girl  in  death  to  the  human 
family  from  which  she  had  severed  herself  in  life. 

Not  to  be  goaded  to  indiscretion  now  she  sat  down 
as  before  with  her  work. 

"  And  the  money — yours  and  mine — did  it  go  to 
assist  in  this  unexpected  enterprise,  and  not  to  buy 
a  claim  with  Glen  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  No — no — not  all  of  it — certainly 
not,"  he  stammered,  caught  for  a  moment  off  his 
guard.  "  Some  of  my  funds  I  used,  of  course,  in 
necessary  ways.  Don't  you  worry  about  your  thirty 
thousand.  You'll  get  it  back  a  hundredfold,  from 
your  interest  in  the  claim." 

She  glanced  up  suddenly,  startled  by  what  he  had 
said. 

"  My  interest  in  the  claim?" 

"  Certainly,  your  interest.  You  didn't  suppose 
I'd  freeze  you  out,  my  little  woman — my  little  wife 
— to  be?  You  are  one  of  the  company,  of  course. 
You'll  be  a  director  later  on — and  we'll  clean  up  a 
fortune  in  a  year !  " 

She  was  exceedingly  pale.  What  wonder  Van 
had  a  grievance !  He  had  doubtless  heard  it  all 
before  he  came  that  night  to  deliver  Glen's  letter  from 
Starlight.  He  might  even  have  thought  she  had 
sent  him  to  Glen  to  get  him  away  from  his  claim. 

A  thousand  thoughts,  that  seemed  to  scorch  like 

317 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

fire,  went  rocketing  through  her  brain.  The  thing 
was  too  much  to  be  understood  at  once — it  went  too 
deep — it  involved  such  possibilities.  She  must  try 
to  hold  herself  in  check — try  to  be  clever  with  this 
man. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  dropping  her  eyes  to  her  work, 
"and  Glen  is  in  it  too?" 

Bostwick  was  nervous.     He  sat  down. 

"  Well,  yes — to  some  extent — a  little  slice  of  mine," 
he  faltered.  "  Naturally  he  has  less  than  I've  given 
to  you." 

"  But — didn't  he  discover  the  opportunity — the 
chance?  " 

"  Certainly  not !  "  he  declared  vehemently.  "  It's 
all  my  doing — everything!  Wholly  my  idea  from 
the  start ! "  The  impulse  to  boast,  to  vaunt  his 
cleverness,  was  not  to  be  resisted.  "  I  told  Van 
Buren  the  game  had  only  begun !  He  thought  him 
self  so  clever !  " 

She  clung  to  her  point. 

"  But — of  course  you  told  me  Glen  had  found  the 
chance,  requiring  sixty  thousand  dollars." 

"  That  was  a  different  proposition — nothing  to  do 
with  this.  I've  dropped  that  game  entirely.  This 
is  big  enough  for  us  all !  " 

She  looked  the  picture  of  unsophisticated  inno 
cence,  sewing  at  a  gaudy  square  of  cloth. 

"  Did  this  affair  also  require  the  expenditure  of 
sixty  thousand  dollars  ?  " 

"  No,  of  course  not.     Didn't  I  say  so  before?  " 

318 


Beth  Makes  Demands 

"  How  much  did  it  need — if  I  may  ask?  " 

Bostwick  colored.  He  could  not  escape.  He 
dared  not  even  hint  at  the  sum  he  had  employed. 

"  Oh,  just  the  bare  expenses  of  the  survey — noth 
ing  much." 

"  Then,"  she  said,  "  if  you  don't  mind  returning 
my  thirty  thousand  dollars,  I  think  I'll  relinquish  my 
share." 

He  rose  hurriedly. 

"  But  I — but  you — it  won't  be  possible — just  yet," 
he  stammered.  "  This  is  perfectly  absurd !  I  want 
you  in — want  you  to  retain  your  interest.  There 
are  certain  development  expenses — and — they  can't 
be  handled  without  considerable  money." 

"  Why  not  use  your  own?  I  much  prefer  to  with 
draw."  She  said  it  calmly,  and  looked  him  in  the 
eye. 

He  avoided  her  glance,  and  paced  up  and  down 
the  room. 

"  It  can't  be  done  !  "  he  said.  "  I've  pledged  my 
support — our  support — to  get  the  claim  on  its  feet." 

She  grew  calmer  and  colder. 

"  Wasn't  the  claim  already  on  its  feet.  I  heard 
it  was  paying  well — that  quite  a  lot  of  gold  was 
seized  when — when  you  and  the  others  took  the 
place." 

His  impatience  and  uneasiness  increased. 

"  Oh,  it  was  being  worked — in  a  pickyune,  primi 
tive  fashion.  We're  going  at  it  right !  " 

The  color  came  and  went  in  her  face.      She  felt 

319 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

that  the  man  had  employed  her  money,  and  could 
not  repay  it  if  he  would.  She  pushed  the  point. 

"  Of  course,  you'll  remember  I  gave  you  the  money 
to  assist  my  brother  Glen.  It  was  not  to  help 
secure  or  develop  this  other  property.  I  much  pre 
fer  not  to  invest  my  money  this  way.  I  shall  have 
to  request  its  return." 

Bostwick  was  white. 

"  Look  here,  Beth,  is  this  some  maudlin  sentiment 
over  that  brigand,  Van  Buren?  Is  that  what  you 
mean  ?  " 

She  rose  once  more  and  confronted  him  angrily. 
It  was  not  a  mere  girl,  but  a  strong  and  resolute 
woman  he  was  facing. 

"  Mr.  Bostwick,"  she  said,  "  you  haven't  yet  ac 
quired  the  right  to  demand  such  a  thing  as  that  of 
me.  For  reasons  of  my  own,  maudlin  or  otherwise, 
I  refuse  to  have  my  funds  employed  in  the  man 
ner  you  say  you  mean  to  use  them.  I  insist 
upon  the  immediate  return  to  me  of  thirty  thou 
sand  dollars." 

If  rage  at  Van  Buren  consumed  his  blood,  Bost- 
wick's  fear  was  a  greater  emotion.  Before  him  he 
could  plainly  discern  the  abject  failure  of  his  plans 
— the  plan  to  marry  this  beautiful  girl,  the  plan  to 
go  on  with  McCoppet  and  snatch  a  fortune  from 
the  earth.  It  was  not  a  time  for  defiance.  He 
must  fence.  He  must  yield  as  far  as  possible — till 
the  claim  should  make  him  independent.  Of  the 
tirade  on  his  tongue  against  Van  Buren  he  dared 

320 


Beth  Makes  Demands 

not  utter  a  word.      His  own  affairs  of  love  would 
serve  no  better. 

He  summoned  a  smile  to  his  ghastly  lips  and  at 
tempted  to  assume  a  calm  demeanor. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said.  "  If  that  is  the  way  you 
feel  about  your  money,  I  will  pay  you  back  at  once." 

"  If  you  please,"  she  said.      "  To-day." 

"  But — the  bank  isn't  open  after  three,"  he  said 
in  a  species  of  panic.  "  You  can't  be  utterly  un 
reasonable." 

"  It  was  open  much  later  when  we  were  wiring  New 
York  some  time  ago,"  she  reminded  him  coldly.  "  I 
think  you'll  find  it  open  to-night  till  nine." 

"  Well — perhaps  I  can  arrange  it,  then,"  he  said 
in  desperation.  "  I'll  get  down  there  now  and  see 
what  I  can  do." 

He  took  his  hat  and,  glad  to  escape  a  further  in 
quisition,  made  remarkable  haste  from  the  house. 

Trembling  with  excitement,  quivering  on  the  verge 
of  half-discovered  things,  flashes  of  intuition,  frag 
ments  of  deduction,  Beth  waited  an  hour  for  develop 
ments. 

Searle  did  not  return.  She  had  felt  he  would  not. 
She  was  certain  her  money  was  gone. 

At  dusk  a  messenger  boy  arrived  with  the  briefest 
note,  in  Bostwick's  familiar  hand. 

"  Sudden,  urgent  call  to  the  claim.  No  time  for 
business.  Back  as  soon  as  possible.  With  love  and 
faith,  yours,  SEARLE." 

How  she  loathed  his  miserable  He! 
321 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

ALGY'S  COOKING  AND  BETH'S  DESPAIR 

VAN  and  the  new  supply  of  provender  arrived  to 
gether  at  the  tent  where  the  partners  made  their 
temporary  home.  It  was  nearly  dusk,  the  mellow 
end  of  a  balmy  day.  Gettysburg,  Napoleon,  and 
Dave  were  all  inside  the  canvas,  filling  the  small  hol 
low  cube  of  air  with  a  mighty  reek  from  their  pipes, 
and  playing  seven-up  on  a  greasy  box.  The  Chinese 
cook  was  away,  much  to  Van's  surprise. 

"  Gett,"  he  said,  throwing  off  his  belt  and  revolver, 
"  if  Nap  was  to  deal  the  cards  on  your  tombstone, 
on  the  day  of  Gabriel's  trump,  I'll  bet  you'd  break 
the  crust  and  take  a  hand.  What  have  you  done 
with  Algy?" 

"  He's  went  to  git  a  job,"  said  Gettysburg.  "  He 
called  us  all  a  lot  of  babies.  I  doggone  near  kicked 
him  in  the  lung." 

Outside,  where  a  wagon  had  halted  with  Van's  new 
purchases,  the  driver  hauled  out  two  respectable  boxes 
and  dropped  them  on  the  earth. 

"What's  that?"  demanded  Napoleon,  leaping  to 
his  feet.  "  If  it's  pirates  come  to  board  us 

again " 

322 


Algy's  Cooking  and  Beth' s  Despair 

"  Don't  scare  it  away,"  Van  interrupted  warn- 
ingly.  "  It's  grub." 

With  one  accord  the  three  old  cronies  started  for 
the  door  of  the  tent.  Van  followed,  prepared  to 
get  a  dinner  under  way,  since  his  system  was  woefully 
empty. 

To  the  utter  astonishment  of  all,  a  visitor  was 
bustling  up  the  hill.  It  was  Mrs.  Dick. 

"Where's  Van?"  she  panted,  while  still  a  rod 
away.  "  Here,  Van !  "  she  exclaimed,  the  moment 
she  clapped  her  eyes  upon  him,  "  you're  just  the 
one  I  want  to  see,  and  I'm  an  awful  busy  woman, 
but  I've  got  to  make  a  deal  with  you  and  the  sooner 
it's  over  the  better.  So  as  long  as  Charlie  Sing  is 
cookin'  our  victuals  already  I  just  run  up  to  fight  it 
out,  and  we  might  as  well  begin  the  program  to 
night,  so  all  you  boys  come  down  to  dinner  in  just 
about  half  an  hour." 

The  men  were  all  at  sea,  even  Napoleon,  who  had 
once  sailed  a  near-briny  river. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Van,  "  and  give  the  grounds  a 
chance  to  settle.  We  can  almost  see  daylight  through 
what  you  said,  but  who,  for  instance,  is  Charlie 
Sing?  " 

"  As  if  you  didn't  know ! "  Mrs.  Dick  responded 
warmly.  "  If  you  think  I'm  goin'  to  call  that  China 
man  Algy,  or  anything  white,  you're  way  off  your 
ca-base!  Algy!  for  a  Chinaman!  Not  but  what 
he's  a  good  enough  cook,  and  I  like  him  as  a  friend 
of  yours — and  him  almost  makin'  me  cry  with  his 

323 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

tryin'  to  nurse  you  four  old  helpless  galoots,  but 
I  draw  the  line  at  fancy  names,  and  don't  you  forget 
it!" 

The  "  four  old  galoots  "  looked  at  one  another  in 
bewilderment.  Van  led  Mrs.  Dick  gently  but  firmly 
to  a  box  of  provisions  and  pushed  her  down  up 
on  it. 

"  Now  take  a  breath,"  he  said,  "  and  listen.  Do 
we  understand  you  to  say  that  Algy  has  gone  to 
your  boarding-house  and  taken  a  job  as  cook?" 

"  He  has,"  said  Mrs.  Dick,  "  but  I've  named  him 
Charlie." 

"  That'll  turn  his  stomick,"  ventured  Gettysburg 
gravely.  u  He  was  proud  of  '  Algy.' ' 

"  He  certainly  must  be  desperate,"  added  Van. 
"  I  don't  quite  savvy  how  it  happened." 

"Oh,  you  don't?  "  said  little  Mrs.  Dick.  "  Well, 
I  do.  He  come  down  there  and  says  to  me,  says  he, 
*  We're  broke,  Van  and  us,'  he  says,  '  and  I'll  go 
to  work  and  cook  for  you  if  you'll  board  all  the 
family,'  or  words  to  that  effect,  says  he,  '  and  give 
Van  twenty  dollars  a  month,  salary,'  he  says,  and  I 
says  I'll  do  it,  quicker  than  scat.  And  that's  all 
there  is  to  say,  and  if  Charlie  wasn't  a  Chinaman 
I'd  kiss  him  in  the  bargain !  "  With  a  quick,  im 
patient  gesture  she  made  a  daub  at  her  eye  and  flecked 
away  a  jewel. 

Van  hauled  at  his  collar,  which  was  loose  enough 
around  his  neck. 

"  Say,  boys,"  he  said,  "  think  of  Algy  being  kissed 

324 


Algy's  Cooking  and  Beth's  Despair 

in  the  bargain.  I  always  thought  he  got  his  face 
at  a  bargain  counter." 

"  That's  all  right,  Bronson  Van  Buren !  "  answered 
Mrs.  Dick  indignantly,  "  but  I  never  come  that  near 
to  kissin'  you !  " 

Van  suddenly  swooped  down  upon  her,  picked  her 
up  bodily,  and  kissed  her  on  the  cheek.  Then  he 
placed  her  again  on  the  box. 

"  Why  didn't  you  say  what  you  wanted,  earlier?  " 
he  said.  "  Now,  don't  talk  back.  I  want  you  to 
harken  intently.  I'm  perfectly  willing  that  Algy 
should  waste  his  sweetness  on  the  desert  air  of  your 
boarding-house,  if  it  pleases  you  and  him.  I'm 
willing  these  old  ring-tailed  galoots  should  continue 
to  eat  his  fascinating  poisons,  and  I  certainly  hope 
he'll  draw  his  monthly  wage,  but  I'm  going  to  be 
too  busy  to  board  in  any  one  place,  and  Algy's  salary 
would  make  a  load  I  must  certainly  decline  to  carry." 

Mrs.  Dick  looked  at  the  horseman  in  utter  dis 
appointment. 

"  You  won't  come  ?  Maybe  you  mean  my  house 
ain't  good  enough?  " 

Napoleon  was  somewhat  excited  by  prospects  of 
again  beholding  Elsa,  of  whose  absence  he  was  wholly 
unaware. 

"  We  won't  go,  neither !  "  he  declared.  "  Doggone 
you,  Van,  you  know  we  won't  go  without  the  skipper, 
and  you're  shovin'  us  right  out  of  heaven ! " 

Gettysburg  added :  "  I  don't  want  to  say  nuthin', 
but  my  stomach  will  sure  be  the  seat  of  anarchy  if 

325 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

it  has  to  git  cheated  out  of  goin'  down  to  Mrs. 
Dick's." 

Van  was  about  to  reply  to  them  all.  He  had 
paused  to  frame  his  answer  artfully,  eager  as  he  was 
to  foster  the  comfort  of  his  three  old  partners,  but 
wholly  unwilling  to  accept  from  either  Mrs.  Dick  or 
Algernon  the  slightest  hint  of  aid. 

"  I  admit  that  a  man's  reach  should  be  above  the 
other  fellow's  grasp,  and  all  that,"  he  started,  "  but 
here's  the  point " 

He  was  interrupted  suddenly.  A  man,  running 
breathlessly  up  the  slope  and  waving  his  hat  in 
frantic  gestures,  began  to  shout  as  he  came. 

"Mrs.  Dick!  Mrs.  Dick!"  he  cried  at  the  top 
of  his  voice.  "  Help !  help !  You've  got  to  come !  " 

Mrs.  Dick  leaped  quickly  to  her  feet  to  face  the 
oncoming  man.  It  was  old  Billy  Stitts.  He  had 
come  from  Beth. 

"  Come  on  !  Come  on  !  "  he  cried  as  he  neared  the 
group,  towards  which  he  ceased  to  run,  the  better  to 
catch  his  breath  and  yell.  "  There's  hell  a-poppin' 
in  the  boarding-house !  You've  got  to  come !  " 

He  surged  up  the  last  remaining  ascent  at  a  lively 
stride. 

"What's  the  matter?  What  in  the  world  are 
you  drivin'  at  ?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Dick.  "  Hold  your 
tongue  long  enough  to  tell  me  what's  the  matter." 

"It's  the  chink!"  exploded  Billy  pantingly. 
"  They  tried  to  run  him  off  the  place !  He's  locked 
the  kitchen  and  gone  to  throwin'  out  hot  water  and 

326 


Algy's  Cooking  and  Beth's  Despair 

Chinese  language  like  a  fire-engine  on  a  drunk.  And 
now  they're  all  a-packin'  up  to  quit  the  house,  and 
you  won't  have  a  doggone  boarder  left,  fer  they 
won't  eat  Chinese  chuck !  " 

"  What  ?  "  said  Van  drawlingly,  "  refuse  to  eat 
Algy's  confections? — a  crowd  like  that?  By  all 
the  culinary  gods  of  Worcestershire  and  mustard, 
they'll  eat  out  of  Algy's  hand." 

He  dived  inside  the  tent,  caught  up  his  gun,  and 
was  strapping  it  on  before  Mrs.  Dick  could  catch 
her  breath  to  utter  a  word  of  her  wrath. 

"Well,"  said  Gettysburg  dubiously,  "I  hate 
trouble  on  an  empty  stomach,  but " 

"  You  stay  in  camp  till  you  hear  the  dinner  bell," 
Van  interrupted.  "  This  game  is  mine  and  Mrs. 
Dick's.  You'll  get  there  in  time  for  desert." 

He  did  not  wait  for  Mrs.  Dick.  He  started  at 
a  pace  that  none  could  follow.  Mrs.  Dick  began 
to  run  at  his  heels,  calling  instructions  as  she 
went. 

"  Be  careful  of  the  crock'ry,  Van !  The  stove's 
bran'-new!  I'd  hate  to  have  you  break  the  chairs! 
And  don't  forgit  Miss  Kent ! " 

Old  Billy  Stitts  had  remained  with  the  others  at 
the  camp. 

"  Ain't  she  the  female  woman?  "  he  said.  "  Ain't 
she  just  about  it?  " 

No  one  answered.  The  three  old  cronies  were 
watching  Van  as  he  went. 

Van,  for  his  part,  heard  nothing  of  what  Mrs. 

327 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

Dick  was  saying,  except  the  name  "  Miss  Kent."  He 
had  not  forgotten  for  a  moment  that  Beth  was  at 
the  seat  of  war,  or  that  he  would  perhaps  be  wiser 
by  far  never  to  behold  her  again.  He  was  speeding 
there  despite  all  he  felt  at  what  she  had  done,  for 
she  might  be  involved  in  trouble  at  the  house,  and 
— at  least  she  was  a  woman. 

He  arrived  in  the  midst  of  a  newly  concerted  plan 
on  the  part  of  lodgers  and  strangers  combined  to 
smoke  Algy  out  of  the  kitchen.  They  had  broken 
windows,  overturned  the  furniture,  and  worked  up 
a  lively  humor.  Algy  had  exhausted  his  supply  of 
hot  water,  but  not  his  supply  of  language.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  stream  of  Oriental  invective  being  poured 
through  the  walls  of  the  building  might  have  withered 
almost  anything  extant.  But  Goldite  whisky  had 
failed  on  his  besiegers  earlier  and  their  vitals  were 
proof  against  attack. 

Van  arrived  among  them  abruptly. 

"  What's  all  this  pillow-fight  about?  "  he  demanded 
in  a  voice  that  all  could  hear.  "  Which  one  of  you 
fellows  is  it  that's  forgotten  he's  a  man?  Who's 
looking  for  trouble  with  my  Chinese  cook  and  Mrs. 
Dick?" 

He  boded  no  good  to  any  man  sufficiently  hardy 
to  argue  the  matter  to  a  finish.  The  attackers  lost 
heart  as  they  faced  about  and  found  him  there  ready 
for  action.  From  a  half-open  window  above  the 
scene  Beth  was  watching  all  that  was  done. 

A  spokesman  for  the  lodgers  found  his  voice. 

328 


Algy's  Cooking  and  Beta's  Despair 

"  Well,  we  ain't  a-goin'  to  stay  in  no  doggone 
house  with  a  chink  shoved  in  fer  a  cook." 

Van  nodded :  "  Have  you  ever  tried  Algy's  cook 
ing?" 

"  No,  we  ain't !     And  we  ain't  a-goin'  to,  neither ! " 

The  others  murmured  their  assent. 

"  You're  a  fine  discriminating  cluster  of  bifurcated, 
viviparous  idiots,"  said  Van  in  visibly  disturbing 
scorn.  "  You  fellows  would  have  to  be  grabbed  by 
the  scruff  of  the  neck  and  kicked  into  Eden,  I  reckon, 
even  if  the  snake  was  killed  and  flung  over  the  fence, 
and  the  fruit  offered  up  on  silver  platters.  The 
man  who  hasn't  eaten  one  of  Algy's  dinners  isn't  fit 
to  live.  The  man  who  refuses  to  eat  one  better  begin 
right  now  on  his  prayers."  He  took  out  his  gun 
and  waved  it  loosely  about,  adding :  "  Which  one  of 
you  remembers  '  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep  '  ?  " 

There  was  no  response.  The  ten  or  twelve  dis 
turbers  of  the  peace  were  stirring  uneasily  in  their 
tracks. 

Van  gave  them  a  chance. 

"  All  who  prefer  to  recite,  '  Now  I  sit  me  up  to 
eat,'  please  raise  their  hands.  Raise  'em  up,  raise 
'em  up ! "  he  commanded  with  the  gun.  "  Put  up 
both  hands,  while  you're  at  it." 

Up  went  all  the  hands.  Mrs.  Dick  arrived,  and 
stood  looking  on  and  panting  in  excitement. 

"  Thanks  for  this  unanimous  vote,"  Van  resumed. 
"  I  want  to  inform  you  boarders  in  particular  that 
if  ever  I  hear  of  one  of  you  missing  a  meal  of  Algy's 

329 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

cooking,  or  playing  hookey  from  this  lodging-house, 
as  long  as  Mrs.  Dick  desires  your  inglorious  com 
pany,  I'll  hand  you  forthwith  over  to  the  pound- 
keeper  with  instructions  not  to  waste  his  chloroform, 
but  to  drown  the  whole  litter  in  a  bag." 

"  Oh,  well!  "  said  the  spokesman,  " I'd  just  as  soon 
eat  the  chink's  cookin',  if  it's  good." 

"Me,  too,"  said  a  follower,  meek  as  a  lamb.  A 
number  echoed  "  Me,  too."  One  added :  "  We  was 
just  having  a  little  bit  of  fun." 

"Well,"  said  Van  judicially,  "  Algy's  entitled  to 
his  share."  He  raised  his  voice :  "  Hey  there,  Algy 
— come  out  here  and  play  with  the  boys." 

Mrs.  Dick  had  caught  sufficient  breath  to  ex 
plode. 

"  Fun  !  "  she  said.  "  My  windows  broken !  My 
house  all  upset.  Snakes  alive,  if  ever  I  heard " 

Algy  appeared  and  interrupted. 

"What's  mallah  you,  Van?"  he  said.  "I  got  no 
time  fool  lound  now.  Been  play  too  much.  All 
time  play,  that  velly  superstich!  Nobody  got  time 
to  work." 

"  That's  all  right,"  Van  assured  him.  «  The  boys 
here  wish  to  apologize  for  wasting  your  valuable  time. 
In  fact,  they  insist.  Now  then,  boys,  down  on  your 
knees,  every  Jack  in  the  crowd." 

That  gun  of  his  had  a  horribly  loose  way  of  wav 
ing  about  to  cover  all  the  men.  They  slumped  to, 
rather  than  knelt  on,  their  knees. 

"  Suminagot !  "  said  Algy.     "  All  time  too  muchee 

330 


Algy's  Cooking  and  Betk's  Despair 

monkey  fooling !  My  dinner  not  git  leady,  Van,  you 
savvy  that?  What's  mallah  you?" 

Van  ignored  the  cook,  in  addressing  the  men. 

"  It's  your  earnest  desire  to  apologize,  boys,  I 
believe,"  he  said.  "All  in  favor  will  please  say 
Aye." 

The  men  said  Aye  in  growlings,  rumblings,  and 
pipings. 

Van  addressed  his  cook.  "  Do  you  want  them  to 
kiss  your  hand?  " 

"Ah!  Unema!  hong  oy!"  said  Algy  blasphem 
ously.  "  You  makee  me  velly  sick !  Just  wash  my 
hands  for  finish  my  dinner.  Too  much  monkey- 
doodle  ! "  and  off  he  went  to  his  work,  followed  at 
once  by  Mrs.  Dick. 

"  Algy's  too  modest,"  Van  assured  the  crowd. 
"  And  none  of  you  chaps  are  fit  to  apologize  to  Mrs. 
Dick,  so  you'd  better  go  wash  up  for  dinner.  But 
don't  let  me  hear  so  much  as  a  peep  about  Algy 
from  one  of  this  bunch,  or  Eden  will  turn  into 
Hades."  As  the  men  arose  to  their  feet  sheepishly, 
and  began  to  slink  away  he  added  to  the  spokesman, 
"  You  there  with  the  face  for  pie,  go  up  to  my  camp 
and  call  the  boys  to  feed." 

The  men  disappeared.  Van,  left  alone,  was  turn 
ing  away  when  his  glance  was  attracted  to  the 
window,  up  above,  where  Beth  was  looking  down. 
His  face  turned  red  to  the  topmost  rim  of  his 
ears. 

The  girl  was  pale,  but  resolute. 

331 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"  May  I  see  you  a  moment,  please  ?  "  she  said, 
"before  the  men  come  in?  " 

"  Certainly."  Van  went  to  the  front  and  waited 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

When  Beth  came  down  he  was  standing  in  the 
doorway,  looking  off  at  the  shadowy  hills.  He  heard 
her  steps  upon  the  stairs  and  turned,  removing  his 
hat. 

For  a  moment  Beth  faced  him  silently,  her  color 
coming  and  going  in  rapid  alternations.  She  had 
never  seemed  more  beautiful  than  now,  in  her  mood 
of  worry  and  courage. 

"  Thank  you  for  waiting,"  she  said  to  him  faintly, 
her  heart  beating  wildly  in  her  bosom,  "  I  felt  as  if 
I  had  the  right —  felt  it  only  right — won't  you  please 
tell  me  what  I  have  done  ?  " 

It  was  not  an  easy  matter  for  Van  to  hold  his 
own,  to  check  an  impulse  utterly  incontinent,  utterly 
weak,  that  urged  him  fairly  to  the  edge  of  surrender. 
But  his  nature  was  one  of  intensity,  and  inasmuch 
as  he  had  loved  intensely,  he  distrusted  now  with  equal 
force. 

"  What  you  have  done?  "  he  repeated.  "  I'm  sure 
I  can't  tell  you  of  anything  that  you  do  not  know 
yourself.  What  do  you  wish  me  to  say?  " 

"  I  don't  know !  I  don't  know,"  she  told  him 
honestly.  "  I  thought  if  I  asked  you — asked  you 
like  this — you'd  tell  me  what  is  the  matter." 

"  There's  nothing  the  matter." 

"But  there  is!"  she  said.      "Why  not  be  frank? 

332 


Algy's  Cooking  and  Beth' s  Despair 

I  know  that  you're  in  trouble.  Perhaps  you 
blame " 

"  I  told  you  once  that  taking  trouble  and  having 
trouble  supply  all  the  fun  I  have,"  he  interrupted. 
"  The  man  without  trouble  became  extinct  before  he 
was  born." 

"  Oh,  please  don't  jest,"  she  begged  him  earnestly. 
"  You  and  I  were  friends — I'm  sure  we  were  friends 
— but  now " 

"  Now,  if  we  are  not,  do  you  think  the  fault  is 
mine?" 

He,  too,  was  white,  for  the  struggle  was  great 
in  his  soul. 

"  It  isn't  mine !  "  she  said.  "  I  want  to  say  that ! 
I  had  to  say  that.  I  stopped  you — just  to  say 
that."  She  blushed  to  say  so  much,  but  she  met 
his  stern  gaze  fearlessly  with  courage  in  her  eyes. 

He  could  not  understand  her  in  the  least,  unless 
she  still  had  more  to  do,  and  thought  to  hold  his 
friendship,  perhaps  for  Searle's  protection.  He 
forced  himself  to  probe  in  that  direction. 

"  And  you'd  wish  to  go  on  being  friends  ?  " 

It  was  a  hard  question — hard  to  ask  and  hard  to 
answer.  She  colored  anew,  but  she  did  not  flinch. 
Her  love  was  too  vast,  too  strong  and  elemental  to 
shrink  at  a  crucial  moment. 

"  I  valued  your  friendship — very  much,"  she  con 
fessed  steadily.  "  Why  shouldn't  I  wish  it  to  con 
tinue?" 

It  was  aggravating  to  have  her  seem  so  honest, 

333 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

so  splendid,  so  womanly  and  fine,  when  he  thought  of 
that  line  in  her  letter.  He  could  not  spare  himself 
or  her  in  the  agitation  of  his  nature. 

"  Your  way  and  mine  are  different,"  he  said.  "  My 
arts  in  deceit  were  neglected,  I'm  afraid." 

Her  eyes  blazed  more  widely  than  before.  Her 
color  went  like  sunset  tints  from  the  sky,  leaving 
her  face  an  ashen  hue  of  chill. 

"Deceit?"  she  repeated.  "You  mean  that  I — 
I  have  deceived  you  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

He  could  bear  no  more  of  her  apparent  innocence. 
It  was  breaking  his  resolution  down. 

"  Oh,  we  may  as  well  be  candid !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  What's  the  use  of  beating  round  the  bush?  I  saw 
your  letter — read  your  letter — by  mistake." 

"My  letter?" 

"  Your  letter  to  your  brother.  Through  some 
mistake  I  was  given  the  final  page — a  fragment 
merely — instead  of  your  brother's  reply  to  be  brought 
to  you.  I  was  asked  to  read  it — which  I  did.  Is 
that  enough  ?  " 

"  My  letter  to The  last "  At  a  sudden 

memory  of  that  letter's  last  page,  with  her  heart's 
confession  upon  it,  she  burned  a  blinding  crimson. 

"  You  read "  she  stammered,  " — and  now " 

She  could  not  look  him  in  the  face.  She  leaned 
against  the  stair  in  sudden  weakness. 

"  After  that,"  he  said,  "  does  my  conduct  occasion 
surprise  ?  " 

What  he  meant,  in  the  light  of  the  letter  as  she 

334 


Algy's  Cooking  and  Beth's  Despair 

had  written  it  to  Glen,  as  she  thought  he  must  have 
read  it,  was  beyond  her  comprehension.  She  had 
fondly  believed  he  loved  her.  He  had  told  her  so 
in  actions,  words,  and  kisses.  What  terrible  secret, 
deep  hidden  in  his  breast,  could  possibly  lie  behind 
this  thing  was  more  than  mind  could  fathom.  Or 
did  he  scorn  and  loathe  her  now  for  having  succumbed 
to  his  love?  He  had  read  her  confession  that  she 
loved  him  more  than  anything  else  in  all  the  world. 
He  knew  the  last  faint  word  in  her  heart — and  flung 
her  away  like  this ! 

She  cast  one  frightened,  inquiring  look  at  his  face. 
It  was  set  and  hard  as  stone.  The  light  in  his 
eyes  was  cold,  an  accusing  glitter.  She  felt  herself 
utterly  abashed,  utterly  shamed.  Her  heart  had 
lain  naked  before  him,  throbbing  with  its  secret.  His 
foot  was  upon  it.  There  was  nothing  to  cover  its 
nakedness — nothing  to  cover  her  confusion. 

For  a  moment  she  stood  there,  attempting  to 
shrink  within  herself.  Her  attitude  of  pain  and 
shame  appeared  to  him  as  guilt.  He  felt  the  whole 
thing  poignantly — felt  sorry  to  send  his  shaft  so 
truly  home,  sorry  to  see  the  effect  of  the  blow.  But, 
what  was  the  use?  His  was  the  way  of  plain, 
straightforward  dealing.  Better  one  swift  wound? 
even  unto  death,  than  a  lingering  torture  for  years. 

He  opened  his  lips  as  if  to  speak.  But  there 
was  nothing  more  to  say.  He  turned  towards  the 
door. 

Beth  could  not  suppress  one  little  cry. 

335 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"  Oh !  "  It  was  half  a  moan,  half  a  shuddering 
gasp. 

With  her  last  rally  of  strength  she  faced  the  stair 
way,  and  weakly  stumbled  up  the  steps. 

A  spasm  of  agony  seized  Van  by  the  cords  of  his 
heart.  He  went  blindly  away,  with  a  vision  in  his 
eyes  of  Beth  groping  weakly  up  the  stairs — a  doe 
with  a  mortal  hurt. 


336 


CHAPTER  XL 

GLEN    AND    REVELATIONS 

How  she  spent  that  night  Beth  never  could  have 
told.  Her  mind  had  refused  to  work.  Only  her 
heart  was  sensible  of  life  and  emotions,  for  there 
lay  her  wound,  burning  fiercely  all  the  long  hours 
through.  That  Van  had  made  excuses  to  his  part 
ners  and  disappeared  on  "  business  "  was  a  matter 
of  which  she  received  no  account. 

In  the  morning  the  unexpected  happened.  Her 
brother  Glen  arrived  in  Goldite,  having  driven  from 
Starlight  with  a  friend.  He  appeared  at  Mrs.  Dick's 
while  Beth  was  still  in  her  room,  indisposed.  She 
had  eaten  no  dinner.  She  took  no  breakfast.  But 
with  Glenmore's  advent  she  was  suddenly  awakened 
to  a  new  excitement,  almost  a  new  sort  of  hope. 

Young  Kent  was  a  smooth-faced,  boyish  chap, 
slightly  stooped,  exceedingly  neat,  black-haired,  and 
of  medium  height.  He  was  like  Beth  only  in  a 
"  family  "  manner.  His  nose  was  a  trifle  large  for 
his  face,  but  something  in  his  modest,  good-natured 
way,  coupled  to  his  earnest  delivery  of  slang  in  all 
his  conversation,  lent  him  a  certain  charm  that  no 
one  long  resisted. 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

He  was  standing  in  his  characteristic  pose,  with 
one  hand  buried  in  his  pocket,  as  he  laughingly  ex 
plained  himself  to  Mrs.  Dick,  when  Beth  came  run 
ning  down  the  stairs. 

"  Glen ! "  she  cried,  as  she  ran  along  the  hall, 
and  casting  herself  most  fervently  upon  him,  with 
her  arms  about  his  neck,  she  had  a  good,  sky-clear 
ing  cry,  furious  and  brief,  and  looked  like  a  rain-wet 
rose  when  she  pushed  him  away  and  scrutinized  him 
quickly  through  her  tears. 

"I  say,  Sis,  why  this  misplaced  fountain  on  the 
job?  "  he  said.  "  Do  I  look  as  bad  as  that?  " 

"  Oh,  Glen,"  she  said,  "  you've  been  ill !  You  were 
hurt!  I've  worried  so.  You're  well?  You've  en 
tirely  recovered  ?  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you,  Glen ! 
There's  so  much  I've  got  to  say ! " 

"  Land  snakes ! '"  said  Mrs.  Dick.  "  If  I  don't 
hurry "  and  off  she  went. 

"  You're  the  phonograph  for  mine,"  said  Glen. 
"  What's  the  matter  with  your  eyes  ?  Searle  hasn't 
got  you  going  on  the  lachrymals  already  ?  " 

"No,  I— I'm  all  right,"  she  said  excitedly.  "I 
didn't  sleep  well,  that's  all.  Do  sit  down.  I've  so 
many  things  to  say,  so  much  to  ask,  I  don't  know 
where  to  begin.  It  was  such  a  surprise,  your  coming 
like  this!  And  you're  looking  so  well.  You  got 
my  letter,  of  course?  " 

Glen  sat  down,  and  Beth  sat  near,  her  hand  upon 
his  arm.  They  had  been  more  like  companions  than 
mere  half-brother  and  sister,  all  their  lives.  The 

338 


Glen  and  Revelations 

bond  of  affection  between  them  was  exceptionally 
developed. 

"  I  came  up  on  account  of  your  letter,"  he  said. 
"  Either  my  perceptive  faculties  are  on  the  blink  or 
there's  something  decaying  in  Denmark.  It's  you 
for  the  Goddess  of  Liberty  enlightening  the  unen 
lightened  savage.  I'm  from  Missouri  and  I  want 
you  to  start  the  ticker  on  the  hum." 

"  You  know  what  Searle  has  done  ? "  she  said. 
"  How  much  do  you  know  of  what  has  hap 
pened? " 

"  Nothing.  I've  been  retired  on  half  knowledge 
for  a  month,"  said  Glen.  "  I  haven't  been  treated 
right.  I'm  here  to  register  a  roar.  Nobody  tells 
me  you're  in  the  State  till  I  read  that  account  in  the 
paper.  I  dope  it  out  to  Searle  that  I  am  bumping 
the  bumps,  and  there  is  nothing  doing.  He  shows 
up  at  last  and  hands  me  a  species  of  coma  and  leaves 
me  with  twenty-five  dollars1.  That's  what  I  get. 
What  I've  been  doing  is  a  longer  story.  I  apologize 
for  not  having  seen  your  friend  who  brought  the 
letter,  but  it's  up  to  you  to  apologize  for  a  bum 
epistle  to  the  Prodigal." 

"  Wait  a  minute,  Glen — wait  a  minute,  please ; 
don't  go  so  fast,"  she  said,  gripping  tighter  to  his 
arm.  "  I  must  get  this  all  as  straight  and  plain 
as  possible.  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  Searle 
really  drugged  you,  or  something  like  that — what 
for?" 

"  I  want  to  know,"  said  Glen.      "  What's  the  an- 

339 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

swer?      Perhaps  he  preferred  I  should  not  behold 
your  Sir  Cowboy  Gallahad." 

"  There  is  something  going  on,"  she  said,  "  some 
thing  dark  and  horrible.  How  did  you  happen  to 
show  Mr.  Van  Buren — let  him  see  the  last  page  of 
my  letter?" 

"  I  didn't  let  him  see  anything,"  said  Glen.  "  I 
was  dopy,  I  tell  you.  I  didn't  even  see  the  letter 
myself.  Searle  sat  on  the  bed  and  read  it  aloud — 
and  lit  his  cigar  with  part  of  it  later." 

"  My  letter  ?  "  she  said,  rising  abruptly,  and  im 
mediately  sitting  down  again.  "  You  never  saw 

Searle  got  it — read  it !   Oh,  the  shamelessness !    Then 
— it  must  have  been  Searle  who  made  the  mistake — 

let  Mr.  Van  Buren  see  it — see  what  I  wrote — see 

What  did  he  read  you — read  about  Van — Mr.  Van 
Buren — almost  the  last  thing  in  the  letter?  " 

Glen  was  surprised  at  her  agitation.  He  glanced 
at  her  blankly. 

"  Nothing,"  he  said.  "  He  read  me  nothing — as 
I  remember — about  your  friend.  Was  it  something 
in  particular?  " 

She  arose  again  abruptly  and  wrung  her  hands 
in  a  gesture  of  baffled  impatience. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  what  it  all  means ! "  she  said. 
"  To  think  of  Searle  being  there,  and  intercepting 
my  letter! — daring  to  read  it! — burning  it  up! — 
reading  you  only  a  portion  !  Of  course,  he  didn't  read 
you  my  suspicions  concerning  himself?  " 

"  Not    on    your    half-tone,"    Glen    assured    her. 

340 


Glen  and  Revelations 

"  What's  all  this  business,  anyway  ?  Put  me  wise, 
Sis,  I'm  groping  like  a  blind  snail  in  the  mulliga 
tawny." 

Beth  sat  down  as  before  and  leaned  her  chin  in 
her  palm  in  an  attitude  of  concentration. 

"  Don't  you  know  what  Searle  has  done — taking 
the  'Laughing  Water'  claim? — Mr.  Van  Buren's 
claim?" 

"  I  don't  know  anything ! "  he  told  her  convinc 
ingly.  "  I'm  a  howling  wilderness  of  ignorance.  I 
want  to  know." 

"  Let's  start  at  the  very  beginning,"  she  said. 
"  Just  as  soon  as  Searle  brought  your  letter — the 
first  one,  I  mean — in  which  you  asked  for  sixty  thou 
sand  dollars  to  buy  a  mine " 

"  Whoap !  Jamb  on  the  emergency !  "  Glen  in 
terrupted.  "  I  never  wrote  such  a  letter  in  my 
life!" 

She  looked  at  him  blankly. 

"  But — Glen — I  saw  your  letter.  I  read  it  my 
self — at  this  very  table." 

Glen  knitted  his  brows  and  became  more  serious. 

"A  letter  from  me? — touching  Searle  for  sixty 
thou?  Somebody's  nutty." 

"  But  Glen — what  I  saw  with  my  own  eyes " 

"  Can't  help  it.  Nothing  doing !  "  he  interrupted 
as  before.  "  If  Searle  showed  you  any  such  letter 
as  that  he  wrote  it  him — hold  on,  I  wrote  him  for 
a  grub-stake,  fifty  dollars  at  the  most,  but  I  haven't 
even  seen  a  mine  that  any  man  would  buy,  that  the 

341 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

other  man  would  sell,  and  Searle  sure  got  my  first 
before  I  was  bug-house  from  that  wollop  on  the 
block."  He  put  his  hand  to  the  sore  spot  on  his 
head  and  rubbed  it  soothingly. 

Beth  was  pale.  She  failed  to  observe  his  gesture, 
so  absorbed  were  all  her  faculties  in  the  maze  of  facts 
in  which  she  was  somewhat  helplessly  struggling. 

"  Could  Searle  have  written  such  a  letter  as  that  ?  " 
she  said.  "What  for?" 

"  For  money — if  he  wrote  it,"  said  Glen.  "  Did  he 
touch  you  for  a  loan  ?  " 

Beth's  eyes  were  widely  blazing.  Her  lips  were 
white  and  stiff. 

"  Why,  Glen,  I  advanced  thirty  thousand  dollars 
— I  thought  to  help  you  buy  a  mine.  Searle  was 
to  put  in  a  like  amount — but  recently " 

"Searle!  Thirty  thousand  bucks!"  said  Glen. 
"  He  hasn't  got  thirty  thousand  cents !  The  man 
who  drove  me  up  last  night  knows  the  bank  cashier, 
Mr.  Rickart,  like  a  brother — and  Rickart  told  him 
Searle  is  a  four-flusher — hasn't  a  bean — and  looks 
like  a  mighty  good  imitation  of  a  crook.  Searle! 
You  put  up  thirty — stung,  Beth,  stung,  good  and 
plenty ! " 

Beth's  hand  was  on  her  cheek,  pressing  it  to  white 
ness. 

"Oh,  I've  been  afraid  that  something  was  wrong 

— that  something  terrible Why,  Glen,  that 

would  be  forgery — obtaining  money  under  false  pre 
tences  !  He  may  have  done  anything — anythmg  to 

342 


Glen  and  Revelations 

get  the  £  Laughing  Water  '  claim !  He  may  have 
done  something — said  something — written  something 

to  make  Van — Mr.  Van  Buren  think  that  I Oh, 

Glen,  I  don't  know  what  to  do ! " 

Her  brother  looked  at  her  keenly. 

"  You're  in  trouble,  Sis,"  he  hazarded.  "  Is  «  Van  ' 
the  candy  boy  with  you  ?  " 

She  blushed  suddenly.  The  contrast  from  her 
paleness  was  striking. 

"  He's  the  one  who  is  in  trouble,"  she  answered. 
"  And  he  may  think  that  I — he  does  think  something. 
He  has  lost  his  mine — a  very  valuable  property. 
Searle  and  some  Mr.  McCoppet  have  taken  it  away 
from  Mr.  Van  Buren  and  all  those  poor  old  men — 
after  all  their  work,  their  waiting — everything! 
You've  got  to  help  me  to  see  what  we  can  do ! " 

u  McCoppet's  a  gambler — a  short-card,  tumble 
weed,"  said  Glen.  "  You've  got  to  put  me  next. 
Tell  me  the  whole  novelette,  beginning  at  chapter 
one." 

"  As  fast  as  I  can,"  she  answered,  and  she  did. 
She  related  everything,  even  the  manner  in  which 
she  and  Searle  had  first  become  engaged — a  business 
at  which  she  marveled  now — and  of  how  and  when 
she  had  encountered  Van,  the  results  of  the  meeting, 
the  subsequent  events,  and  the  heart-breaking  out 
come  of  the  trip  that  Van  had  made  to  carry  her 
letter  to  Starlight. 

In  her  letter,  her  love  had  been  confessed.  She 
glossed  that  item  over  now  as  a  spot  too  sensitive  for 

343 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

exposure.  She  merely  admitted  that  between  her 
self  and  Van  had  existed  a  friendship  such  as  comes 
but  once  in  many  a  woman's  life — a  friendship  re 
cently  destroyed,  she  feared,  by  some  horrible  ma 
chinations  of  Bostwick. 

"  You  can  see,"  she  concluded,  "  that  Mr.  Van 
Buren  must  think  me  guilty  of  almost  anything.  He 
doubtless  knows  my  money,  that  I  thought  was  help 
ing  you,  went  to  meet  the  expense  of  taking  away 
his  property.  He  probably  thinks  I  sent  him  to 
you  to  get  him  out  of  the  way,  while  Searle 
and  the  others  were  driving  his  partners  off  the 
claim. 

"  My  money  is  gone.  I  asked  for  its  return  and 
I'm  sure  Searle  cannot  repay  me.  I'm  told  he 
couldn't  have  used  so  much  as  thirty  thousand  dollars 
in  anything  legitimate,  so  far,  on  the  'Laughing 
Water '  claim.  If  he'd  forge  a  letter  from  you, 
and  lie  like  this  and  deceive  me  so,  what  wouldn't  he 
do  to  rob  these  men  of  their  mine  ?  " 

"I  scent  decay,"  said  Glenmore  gravely.  "  Have 
you  got  any  plans  in  your  attic  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  don't  know  what  to  do,  of  course ! "  she 
admitted.  "  But  I've  got  to  do  something.  I've 
got  to  show  Mr.  Van  Buren  I'm  not  a  willful  party 
to  these  horrible  things.  I  don't  believe  I'll  ever 
get  my  money  back.  I  don't  want  a  share  of  a 
stolen  mine.  I'd  be  glad  to  let  the  money  go,  and 
more — all  I've  got  in  the  world — if  only  I  could  prove 
to  Van  that  I  haven't  deceived  him,  haven't  taken 

344 


Glen  and  Revelations 

part  in  anything  wrong — if  only  I  could  make  these 
cheats  give  the  '  Laughing  Water  '  back !  " 

"  Van  is  the  candy.  I'll  have  to  meet  him,  sure," 
said  Glen  with  conviction,  looking  on  her  face.  "  I 
wish  you  were  wise  to  more  of  this  game — the  way 
they  worked  it — how  they  doped  it  out.  I'll  look 
around  and  find  out  how  the  trick  was  done,  and 
then  we'll  go  to  it  together.  Guess  I'll  look  for 
Van  right  off  the  bat." 

She  glanced  at  him  with  startled  eyes. 

"  No,  Glen — please  don't.  I'd  rather  you  wouldn't 
— just  yet.  You  don't  understand.  I  can't  let  him 
think  I'm — making  overtures.  He  must  think  I  have 
a  little  pride.  If  his  mine  has  been  stolen  I  want 
to  give  it  back — before  he  ever  sees  me  again.  If 
you  knew  how  much — oh,  how  very  much,  I  wish  to 
do  that " 

"  I'm  on,"  he  interrupted.  "  It  will  do  me  good 
to  put  a  crimp  in  Searle." 


345 


CHAPTER  XLI 

SUVY    PROVES    HIS    LOVE 

IF  a  single  ray  of  far-off  hope  had  lingered  in 
Van's  meditations  concerning  Beth,  and  the  various 
occurrences  involving  himself  and  his  mining  prop 
erty,  it  vanished  when  he  told  her  of  the  letter  he 
had  seen  and  beheld  her  apparent  look  of  guilt. 

One  thing  the  interview  had  done :  it  had  cleared 
his  decks  for  action.  He  had  lain  half  stunned,  as 
it  were,  till  now,  while  Bostwick  held  the  "  Laughing 
Water  "  claim  and  worked  it  for  its  gold.  A  look 
that  was  grim  and  a  heat  that  would  brook  no  resist 
ance  had  come  together  upon  him. 

That  claim  was  his,  by  right  of  purchase,  by  right 
of  discovery  as  to  its  worth !  He  had  earned  it 
by  hardships,  privations,  suffering !  He  meant  to 
have  it  back!  If  the  law  could  avail  him,  well  and 
good!  If  not,  he'd  make  a  law! 

McCoppet  he  knew  for  a  thief — a  "  law-abiding " 
criminal  of  the  subtlest  type.  Bostwick,  he  was  cer 
tain,  was  a  crook.  Behind  these  two  lay  possibilities 
of  crime  in  all  its  forms.  That  suddenly  ordered 
survey  of  the  line  was  decidedly  suspicious.  Bost 
wick  and  his  fiancee  had  come  prepared  for  some  such 

346 


Suvy  Proves  His  Love 

coup — and  money  was  a  worker  of  miracles  such  as 
no  man  might  obstruct. 

Van  became  so  loaded  full  of  fight  that  had  any 
one  scratched  a  match  upon  him  he  might  have  ex 
ploded  on  the  spot.  He  thought  of  the  simplest 
thing  to  do — hire  a  private  survey  of  the  reservation 
line,  either  to  confirm  or  disprove  the  work  that  Law 
rence  had  done,  and  then  map  out  his  course.  The 
line,  however,  was  long,  surveyors  were  fairly 
swamped  with  work,  not  a  foot  could  be  traveled  with 
out  some  ready  cash. 

He  went  to  Rickart  of  the  bank.  Rickart  listened 
to  his  plan  of  campaign  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Don't  waste  your  money,  Van,"  he  said.  "  The 
Government  wouldn't  accept  the  word  of  any  man 
you  could  hire.  Lawrence  would  have  to  be  dis 
credited.  Nobody  doubts  his  ability  or  his  square 
ness.  The  reservation  boundary  was  wholly  a  mat 
ter  of  guess.  You'll  find  it  includes  that  ground — 
and  the  law  will  be  against  you.  I'd  gladly  lend 
you  the  money  if  I  could,  but  the  bank  people 
wouldn't  stand  behind  me.  And  every  bean  I've  got 
of  my  own  I've  put  in  the  Siwash  lease." 

Van  was  in  no  mood  for  begging. 

"  All  right,  Rick,"  he  said.  "  But  I'll  have  that 
line  overhauled  if  I  have  to  hold  up  a  private  sur 
veyor  and  put  him  over  the  course  at  the  front  of 
a  gun."  He  went  out  upon  the  street,  more  hot 
than  before. 

In  two  days  time  he  was  offered  twenty  dollars — 

347 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

a  sum  he  smilingly  refused.  He  was  down  and  out, 
in  debt  all  over  the  camp.  He  could  not  even  nego 
tiate  a  loan.  From  some  of  his  "  friends  "  he  would 
not  have  accepted  money  to  preserve  his  soul. 

Meantime,  spurred  to  the  enterprise  by  little  Mrs. 
Dick,  old  Gettysburg,  Napoleon,  and  Dave  accepted 
work  underground  and  began  to  count  on  their  sav 
ings  for  the  fight. 

At  the  "  Laughing  Water "  claim,  during  this 
period,  tremendous  elation  existed.  Not  only  had 
three  lines  of  sluices  been  installed,  with  three  shifts 
of  men  to  shovel  night  and  day,  but  a  streak  of 
gravel  of  sensational  worth  had  been  encountered  in 
the  cove.  The  clean-up  at  sunset  every  day  was 
netting  no  less  than  a  thousand  dollars  in  gold  for 
each  twenty-four  hours  at  work. 

This  news,  when  it  "  leaked,"  begot  another  rush, 
and  men  by  the  hundreds  swarmed  again  upon  the 
hills,  in  all  that  neighborhood,  panning  the  gravel 
for  their  lives.  Wild-catting  started  with  an  impetus 
that  shook  the  State  itself.  And  Van  could  only 
grit  his  teeth  and  continue,  apparently,  to  smile. 

All  this  and  more  came  duly  to  the  ears  of  Glen- 
more  Kent  and  Beth.  The  girl  was  in  despair  as 
the  days  went  by  and  nothing  had  been  accomplished. 
The  meager  fact  that  Lawrence  had  run  and  cor 
rected  the  reservation  line,  at  Searle's  behest,  was 
all  that  Glen  had  learned. 

But  of  all  the  men  in  Goldite  he  was  doubtless 
best  equipped  with  knowledge  concerning  Bostwick's 

348 


Suvy  Proves  His  Love 

Eastern  standing.  He  knew  that  Searle  had  never 
had  the  slightest  Government  authority  to  order  the 
survey  made — and  therein  lay  the  crux  of  all  the 
matter.  It  was  all  he  had  to  go  upon,  but  he  felt 
it  was  almost  enough. 

The  wires  to  New  York  were  tapped  again,  and 
Beth  was  presently  a  local  bank  depositor  with  a 
credit  of  twenty  thousand  dollars.  In  a  quiet,  ef 
fective  manner,  Glen  then  went  to  work  to  secure  a 
surveyor  on  his  own  account,  or  rather  at  Beth's 
suggestion. 

With  the  fact  of  young  Kent's  advent  in  the 
town  Van  was  early  made  acquainted.  When  Beth 
procured  the  transfer  of  her  money  from  New  York 
to  Goldite,  Rickart  promptly  reported  the  news.  It 
appeared  to  Van  a  confirmation  of  all  his  previous 
suspicions.  He  could  not  fight  a  woman,  and  Bost- 
wick  and  McCoppet  remained  upon  the  claim.  Searle 
wrote  nearly  every  day  to  Beth,  excusing  his  absence, 
relating  his  success,  and  declaring  the  increase  of  his 
love. 

On  a  Wednesday  morning  Glenmore's  man  arrrived 
by  stage  from  Starlight,  instruments  and  all.  His 
name  was  Pratt.  He  was  a  tall,  slow-moving,  blue- 
eyed  man,  nearly  sixty  years  of  age,  but  able  still 
to  carry  a  thirty-pound  transit  over  the  steepest 
mountain  ever  built.  Glen  met  him  by  appointment 
at  the  transportation  office  and  escorted  him  at  once 
to  Mrs.  Dick's. 

Already  informed  as  to  what  would  be  required, 
349 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

the  surveyor  was  provided  with  all  the  data  possible 
concerning  the  reservation  limits. 

Beth  was  tremendously  excited.  "  I'm  glad  you've 
come,"  she  told  him  candidly.  "  Can  you  start  the 
work  to-day  ?  " 

"  You  will  want  to  keep  this  quiet,"  he  said.  "  I 
need  two  men  we  can  trust,  and  then  I'm  ready  to 
start." 

"Two?"  said  Glen.  "That's  awkward.  I 
thought  perhaps  you  could  get  along  with  little  me." 

Beth,  in  her  tumult  of  emotions,  was  changing 
color  with  bewildering  rapidity. 

"  Why — I  expected  to  go  along,  of  course,"  she 
said.  "  I've  got  a  suit — I've  done  it  before — I  mean, 
I  expect  to  dress  as  you  are,  Glen,  and  help  to  run 
the  line." 

Pratt  grinned  good-naturedly.  "  Keeps  it  all  in 
the  family.  That's  one  advantage." 

"  All  right,"  said  Glen.  "  Hike  upstairs  and  don 
your  splendors." 

He  had  hired  a  car  and  stocked  it  with  provisions, 
tents,  and  bedding.  He  hastened  off  and  returned 
with  the  chauffeur  to  the  door. 

Beth,  in  the  costume  she  had  worn  on  the  day 
when  Van  found  her  lost  in  the  desert,  made  a  shy, 
frightened  youth,  when  at  length  she  appeared,  but 
her  courage  was  superb. 

At  ten  o'clock  they  left  the  town,  and  rolled  far 
out  to  the  westward  on  their  course. 

Van  learned  of  their  departure.      He  was  certain 

350 


Suvy  Proves  His  Love 

that  Beth  had  gone  to  the  "  Laughing  Water  "  claim, 
perhaps  to  be  married  to  Bostwick.  Three  times 
he  went  to  the  hay-yard  that  day,  intent  upon  sad 
dling  his  broncho,  riding  to  the  claim  himself,  and 
fighting  out  his  rights  by  the  methods  of  primitive 
man. 

On  the  third  of  his  visits  he  met  a  stranger  who 
offered  to  purchase  Suvy  on  the  spot  at  a  price  of 
two  hundred  dollars. 

"  Don't  offer  me  a  million  or  I  might  be  tempted," 
Van  told  him  gravely.  "  I'll  sell  you  my  soul  for 
a  hundred." 

The  would-be  purchaser  was  dry. 

"  I  want  a  soul  I  can  ride." 

Van  looked  him  over  critically. 

"  Think  you  could  ride  my  cayuse  ?  " 

"This  bronch?"  said  the  man.  "Surest  thing 
you  know." 

"I  need  the  money,"  Van  admitted.  "I'll  bet 
you  the  pony  against  your  two  hundred  you  can't." 

"You're  on," 

Van  called  to  his  friend,  the  man  who  ran  the 
yard. 

"  Come  over  here,  Charlie,  and  hold  the  stakes. 
Here's  a  man  who  wants  to  ride  my  horse." 

Charlie  came,  heard  the  plan  of  the  wager,  ac 
cepted  the  money,  and  watched  Van  throw  on  the 
saddle. 

"  I  didn't  know  you  wanted  to  sell,"  he  said. 
"  You  know  I  want  that  animal." 

351 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"  If  he  goes  he  sells  himself,"  said  Van.  "  If  he 
doesn't,  you're  next,  same  terms." 

"  Let  me  have  that  pair  of  spurs,"  said  the 
stranger,  denoting  a  pair  that  hung  upon  a  nail. 
"  I  guess  they'll  fit." 

He  adjusted  the  spurs  as  one  accustomed  to  their 
use.  Van  merely  glanced  around.  Nevertheless,  he 
felt  a  sinking  of  the  heart.  Five  hundred  dollars, 
much  as  he  needed  money,  would  not  have  purchased 
his  horse.  And  inasmuch  as  luck  had  been  against 
him,  he  suddenly  feared  he  might  be  on  the  point 
of  losing  Suvy  now  for  a  price  he  would  have  scorned. 

"  Boy,"  he  said  in  a  murmur  to  the  broncho,  "  if 
I  thought  you'd  let  any  bleached-out  anthropoid  like 
that  remain  on  deck,  I  wouldn't  want  you  anyway — 
savvy  that  ?  " 

Suvy's  ears  were  playing  back  and  forth  in  ex 
cessive  nervousness  and  questioning.  He  had  turned 
his  head  to  look  at  Van  with  evident  joy  at  the 
thought  of  bearing  him  away  to  the  hills — they  two 
afar  off  together.  Then  came  a  disappointment. 

"  There  you  are,"  said  Van,  and  swinging  the 
bridle  reins  towards  the  waiting  man,  he  walked  to 
a  feed-trough  and  leaned  against  it  carelessly. 

u  Thanks,"  said  the  stranger.  He  threw  away  a 
cigarette,  caught  up  the  reins,  adjusted  them  over 
Suvy's  neck,  rocked  the  saddle  to  test  its  firmness, 
and  mounted  with  a  certain  dexterity  that  lessened 
Van's  confidence  again.  After  all,  Suvy  was  thor 
oughly  broken.  He  had  quietly  submitted  to  be  rid- 

352 


Suvy  Proves  His  Love 

den  by  Beth.  His  war-like  spirit  might  be  gone — 
and  all  would  be  lost. 

Indeed,  it  appeared  that  Suvy  was  indifferent — 
that  a  cow  would  have  shown  a  manner  no  less  docile 
or  resigned.  He  did  look  at  Van  with  a  certain  ex 
pression  of  surprise  and  hurt,  or  so,  at  least,  the 
horseman  hoped.  Then  the  man  on  his  back  shook 
up  the  reins,  gave  a  prick  with  the  spurs,  and  Suvy 
moved  perhaps  a  yard. 

The  rider  pricked  again,  impatiently.  Instantly 
Suvy's  old-time  fulminate  was  jarred  into  violent  re 
sponse.  He  went  up  in  the  air  prodigiously,  a  rigid, 
distorted  thing  of  hardened  muscles  and  engine-like 
activities.  He  came  down  like  a  new  device  for 
breaking  rocks — and  the  bucking  he  had  always  loved 
was  on,  in  a  fury  of  resentment. 

"  Good  boy !  "  said  Van,  who  stood  up  stiffly,  cran 
ing  and  bending  to  watch  the  broncho's  fight. 

But  the  man  in  the  saddle  was  a  rider.  He  sat 
in  the  loose  security  of  men  who  knew  the  game. 
He  gave  himself  over  to  becoming  part  of  the  bron 
cho's  very  self.  He  accepted  Suvy's  momentum, 
spine-disturbing  jolts,  and  sudden  gyrations  with  the 
calmness  and  art  of  a  master. 

All  this  Van  beheld,  as  the  pony  bucked  with  warm 
ing  enthusiasm,  and  again  his  heart  descended  to 
the  depths.  It  was  not  the  bucking  he  had  hoped 
to  see.  It  was  not  the  best  that  lay  in  Suvy's 
thongs.  The  beating  he  himself  had  given  the  ani 
mal,  on  the  day  when  their  friendship  was  cemented, 

353 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

had  doubtless  reduced  the  pony's  confidence  of  win 
ning  such  a  struggle,  while  increasing  his  awe  of 
man.  Some  miners  passing  saw  the  dust  as  the  con 
flict  waged  in  the  yard.  They  hastened  in  to  witness 
the  show.  Then  from  everywhere  in  town  they  ap 
peared  to  pour  upon  the  scene.  The  word  went 
around  that  the  thing  was  a  bet — and  more  came 
running  to  the  scene. 

Meantime,  Suvy  was  rocketing  madly  all  over  the 
place.  Chasing  a  couple  of  cows  that  roamed  at 
large,  charging  at  a  monster  pile  of  household  fur 
nishings,  barely  avoiding  the  feed-trough,  set  in  the 
center  of  the  place,  scattering  men  in  all  directions, 
and  raising  a  dust  like  a  concentrated  storm,  the 
broncho  waxed  more  and  more  hot  in  the  blood,  more 
desperately  wild  to  fling  his  rider  headlong  through 
the  air.  But  still  that  rider  clung. 

Van  had  lost  all  sense  save  that  of  worry,  love  for 
his  horse,  and  desire  to  see  him  win  this  vital  struggle. 
A  wild  passion  for  Suvy's  response  to  himself — for  a 
proving  love  in  the  broncho's  being — possessed  his 
nature.  He  leaned  far  forward,  awkwardly,  follow 
ing  Suvy  about. 

"  I'm  ashamed  of  you,  Suvy ! "  he  began  to  cry. 
"  Suvy!  Suvy  where's  your  pride?  Why  don't  you 
do  him,  boy?  Why  don't  you  show  them?  Where's 
your  pride?  My  boy!  my  boy! — don't  you  love  me 
any  more  ?  You're  a  baby,  Suvy !  You're  a  baby ! " 
He  paused  for  a  moment,  following  still  and  watch 
ing  narrowly.  "  Suvy !  Suvy !  You're  gone  if  you 


Suvy  Proves  His  Love 

let  him  ride  you,  lad!      If  you  love  me,  boy,  don't 
break  my  heart  with  shame!  " 

Suvy  and  a  hundred  men  heard  his  wild,  impas 
sioned  appeal.  The  men  responded  as  if  in  some 
pain  of  the  heart  they  could  not  escape,  thus  to  see 
Van  Buren  so  completely  wrapped  up  in  his  horse. 
Then  some  all  but  groaned  to  behold  the  bucking 
cease. 

It  seemed  as  if  Suvy  had  quit.  The  man  in  the 
saddle  eased. 

"  Boy !  "  yelled  Van,  in  a  shrill,  startling  cry  that 
made  the  pony  shiver.  He  had  seen  some  sign  that 
no  one  but  himself  could  understand.  "  Boy !  not 
that !  not  that !  " 

Already  Suvy  had  started  to  rise,  to  drop  himself 
backwards  on  his  rider. 

He  heard  and  obeyed.  He  went  up  no  more  than 
to  half  his  height,  then  seemed  to  be  struck  by  a 
cyclone.  Had  all  the  frightful  dynamic  of  an  earth 
quake  abruptly  focused  in  his  being,  the  fearful  con 
vulsion  of  his  muscles  could  scarcely  have  been 
greater.  It  was  all  so  sudden,  so  swift  and  terrible, 
that  no  man  beheld  how  it  was  done.  It  was  simply 
a  mad  delirium  of  violence,  begun  and  ended  while 
one  tumultuous  shudder  shook  the  crowd. 

Everyone  saw  something  loose  and  twisting  de 
tached  from  the  pony's  back.  Everyone  witnessed 
a  blur  upon  the  air  and  knew  it  was  the  man.  He 
was  flung  with  catapultic  force  against  a  frightened 
cow.  He  struck  with  arms  and  legs  extended.  He 

355 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

clung  like  a  bur  to  the  bovine's  side,  for  a  moment 
before  he  dropped — and  everyone  roared  unfeelingly, 
in  relief  of  the  tension  on  the  nerves. 

The  next  they  knew  Van  was  there  with  his  horse, 
shaking  the  animal's  muzzle. 

"  My  boy !  "  he  said.  "  My  boy !  My  luck  has 
changed !  " 

Apparently  it  had.  The  man  who  had  thought  he 
could  ride  the  horse  limped  weakly  to  a  blanket-roll, 
and  sat  himself  down  to  gather  up  the  pieces  of  his 
breath  and  consciousness.  He  wanted  no  more.  He 
felt  it  was  cheap  at  the  price  he  had  paid  to  escape 
with  a  hint  of  his  life. 

Van  waited  for  nothing,  not  even  the  money  that 
Charlie  of  the  hay-yard  was  holding.  He  mounted 
to  the  saddle  that  had  been  the  seat  of  hell,  and  in 
joy  unspeakable  Suvy  walked  away,  in  response  to 
the  pressure  of  his  knees. 


356 


CHAPTER  XLII 

THE    FURNACE    OF    GOLD 

ALL  the  following  day,  which  was  Thursday,  two 
small  companies  were  out  in  the  hills.  One  was 
Beth's,  where  she,  Glen,  and  Pratt  toiled  slowly  over 
miles  and  miles  of  baking  mountains  and  desert  slopes 
and  rocks,  tracing  out  the  reservation  boundary  with 
a  long  slender  ribbon  of  steel. 

The  other  group,  equally,  if  less  openly,  active, 
comprised  the  sheriff  and  three  of  his  men.  They 
were  trailing  out  the  boundary  of  one  man's  endur 
ance,  against  fatigue,  starvation,  and  the  hatred  of 
his  kind. 

Barger  had  been  at  his  work  once  more,  slaying  and 
robbing  for  his  needs.  He  had  killed  a  Piute  trailer, 
put  upon  his  tracks;  he  had  robbed  a  stage,  three 
private  travelers,  and  a  freight-team  loaded  with  pro 
visions.  He  had  lived  on  canned  tomatoes  and  gin 
ger  snaps  for  a  week — and  the  empty  tins  sufficiently 
blazed  his  orbit. 

He  was  known  to  be  mounted,  armed,  and  once  more 
reduced  to  extremities  in  the  way  of  procuring  food. 
A  trap  had  been  laid,  a  highway  baited  with  an  ap 
parently  defenseless  wagon,  with  two  mere  desert 

357 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

prospectors  and  their  outfit  for  a  load — and  this  he 
was  expected  to  attack. 

The  morning  waned  and  the  afternoon  was  speed 
ing.  Old  Pratt,  with  Beth  and  Glen,  was  eager  to 
finish  by  sunset.  The  farther  he  walked  the  more 
the  surveyor  apparently  warmed  to  his  work.  Beth 
became  footsore  by  noon.  But  she  made  no  com 
plaint.  She  plodded  doggedly  ahead,  the  ribbon-like 
"  chain  "  creeping  like  a  serpent,  on  and  on  before 
her. 

At  the  forward  end  Glen  was  dragging  the  thing 
persistently  over  hills  and  dales,  and  bearing  the 
rod  for  Pratt  with  his  transit  to  sight. 

The  surveyor  himself  was  at  times  as  much  as 
a  mile  or  more  behind,  dumbly  waving  Glen  to  right 
or  left,  as  he  peered  through  his  glass  and  set  the 
course  by  the  compass  and  angles  of  his  transit. 
Anon  he  signaled  the  two  to  wait,  and  Beth  sat  down 
to  watch  him  come,  "  set  up,"  and  wave  them  onward 
as  before. 

She  was  thus  alone,  at  the  end  of  the  chain,  for 
hours  at  a  stretch.  So  often  as  Pratt  came  up 
from  the  rear  and  established  a  station  for  his  in 
strument,  she  asked  how  the  line  was  working  out, 
and  what  were  the  prospects  for  the  end. 

"  Can't  tell  till  we  get  much  closer  to  the 
claim,"  said  Pratt,  with  never  varying  patience. 
"  We'll  know  before  we  die." 

In  the  heat  that  poured  from  sky  and  rocks  it 
might  have  been  possible  to  doubt  the  surveyor's 

358 


She  asked  how  the  line  was  working  out. 


Page 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

prediction.  But  Beth  went  on.  Her  exhaustion  in 
creased.  The  glare  of  the  cloudless  sky  and  green- 
less  earth  seemed  to  burn  all  the  moisture  from  her 
eyes.  The  terrible  silence,  the  dread  austerity  of 
of  mountains  so  rock-ribbed  and  desolate,  oppressed 
her  with  a  sense  of  awe. 

She  was  toiling  as  many  a  man  has  toiled,  through 
the  ancient,  burned-out  furnace  of  gold,  so  in 
tensely  physical  all  about  her;  and  also  she  was  toil 
ing  no  less  painfully  through  the  furnace  of  gold 
that  love  must  ever  create  so  long  as  the  dross 
must  be  burned  from  human  ore  that  the  bullion  of 
honor,  loyalty,  and  faith  may  shine  in  its  purity  and 
worth. 

She  began  to  feel,  in  a  slight  degree,  the  tortures 
that  Van,  old  Gettysburg,  Napoleon,  and  Dave  had 
undergone  for  many  weary  years.  It  was  not  their 
weakness  for  the  gold  of  earth  that  had  drawn  them 
relentlessly  on  in  lands  like  these;  it  was  more  their 
fate,  a  species  of  doom,  to  which,  like  the  helpless 
puppets  that  we  are,  we  must  all  at  last  respond. 

She  felt  a  new  weight  in  the  cruelty  whereby  the 
owners  of  the  "  Laughing  Water  "  claim  had  been 
suddenly  bereft  of  all  they  possessed  after  all  their 
patient  years  of  serving  here  in  this  arid  waste  of 
minerals.  The  older  men  in  Van's  partnership  she 
pitied. 

For  Van  she  felt  a  sense  of  championing  love.  His 
cause  was  her  cause,  come  what  might — at  least  until 
she  could  no  longer  keep  alive  her  hope.  Her  pas- 

359 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

sion  to  set  herself  to  rights  in  his  mind  was  great, 
but  secondary,  after  all,  to  the  love  in  her  heart, 
which  would  not,  could  not  die,  and  which,  by  dint 
of  its  intensity,  bore  her  onward  to  fight  for  his 
rights. 

Alone  so  much  in  the  burning  land  all  day,  she 
had  long,  long  hours  in  which  to  think  of  Van,  long 
hours  in  which  to  contemplate  the  silence  and  the 
vast  dispassion  of  this  mountain  world.  Her  own 
inward  burning  offset  the  heat  of  air  and  earth;  a 
sense  of  the  aridness  her  heart  would  know  without 
Van's  love  once  more  returned,  was  counter  to  the 
aridness  of  all  these  barren  rocks.  The  fervor  of 
her  love  it  was  that  bore  her  onward,  weary,  sore, 
and  drooping. 

What  would  happen  at  the  end  of  day,  if  Pratt 
should  confirm  the  Lawrence  survey,  bestowing  the 
claim  on  Bostwick  and  McCoppet,  she  did  not  dare 
to  think.  Her  excitement  increased  with  every  chain 
length  moving  her  onward  towards  the  cove.  She 
did  not  know  the  hills  or  ravines,  the  canyons  de 
scended  or  acclivities  so  toilsomely  climbed,  and,  there 
fore,  had  not  a  guide  in  the  world  to  raise  or  de 
press  her  hope.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  sustain 
the  weary  march  and  await  the  survey's  end. 

All  day  in  Goldite,  meanwhile,  Van  had  been  work 
ing  towards  an  end.  He  had  two  hundred  dollars, 
the  merest  drop  in  the  bucket,  as  he  knew,  with  which 
to  fight  the  Bostwick  combination.  He  was  thor 
oughly  aware  that  even  when  the  line  could  be  run, 

360 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

establishing  some  error  or  fraud  on  the  part  of  sur 
veyor  Lawrence,  the  fight  would  barely  be  opened. 

McCoppet  and  Bostwick,  with  thousands  of  dollars 
at  command,  could  delay  him,  block  his  progress, 
force  him  into  court,  and  perhaps  even  beat  him 
in  the  end.  The  enginery  of  dollars  was  crushing 
in  its  might.  Nevertheless,  if  a  survey  showed  that 
the  line  had  been  falsely  moved,  he  felt  he  could 
somewhat  rely  upon  himself  to  make  the  seat  of  war 
too  warm  for  comfort. 

There  was  no  surveyor  nearer  than  two  hundred 
miles,  with  Pratt,  as  Van  expressed  it,  "  camping 
with  the  foe."  He  had  shaken  his  partners  un 
timely  from  their  beds  that  morning — (the  trio  were 
mining  nights,  on  the  four-to-midnight  shift) — and 
busied  them  all  with  the  work  of  the  day,  by  way  of 
making  preparations. 

He  spent  nearly  twenty  silver  dollars  on  the  wire, 
telegraphing  various  towns  to  secure  a  competent 
man.  He  sent  a  friend  to  the  Government  office, 
where  Lawrence  was  up  to  his  ears  in  work,  and 
procured  all  the  data,  including  metes  and  bounds, 
of  the  reservation  tract  before  its  fateful  opening. 

The  day  was  consumed  in  the  petty  affairs  attend 
ant  upon  such  a  campaign.  When  his  three  old  part 
ners  went  away  to  their  work  at  four  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  a  wire  had  come  from  far  out  north  that 
a  man  who  was  competent  to  run  the  line  was  starting 
for  Goldite  forthwith. 

The  moonless  night,   at   ten   o'clock,   found  Van 

361 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

alone  at  his  tent.  From  the  top  of  the  hill  whereon 
he  had  camped  a  panoramic  view  of  all  the  town 
swung  far  in  both  directions.  The  glare  of  the 
lamps,  the  noise  of  life — even  the  odor  of  man  upon 
the  air — impinged  upon  his  senses  here,  as  he  sat 
before  the  door  and  gazed  far  down  upon  it.  He 
thought  that  man  with  his  fire,  smells,  and  din  made 
chaos  in  a  spot  that  was  otherwise  sacred  to  nature. 

He  thought  of  the  ceaseless  persistence  with  which 
the  human  family  haunts  all  the  corners  of  the  earth, 
pursues  life's  mysteries,  invades  its  very  God.  He 
thought  of  this  desert  as  a  place  created  barren,  life 
less,  dead,  and  severe  for  some  inscrutable  purpose — 
perhaps  even  fashioned  by  the  Maker  as  His  place 
to  be  alone.  But  the  haunter  was  there  with  his 
garish  town,  his  canvas-tented  circus  of  a  day,  and 
God  had  doubtless  moved. 

How  little  the  game  amounted  to,  at  the  end  of 
a  man's  short  span !  What  a  senseless  repetition  it 
seemed — the  same  old  comedies,  the  same  old  trag 
edies,  the  same  old  bits  of  generosity,  and  greed,  of 
weakness,  hope,  and  despair!  Except  for  a  warm 
little  heartful  of  love — ah  love!  He  paused  at  that 
and  laughed,  unmirthfully.  That  was  the  thing  that 
made  of  it  a  Hades,  or  converted  the  desert  into 
heaven ! 

"  Dreamers  !  dreamers — all  of  us  !  "  he  said,  and 
he  went  within  to  flatten  down  his  blankets  for  the 
night. 

He  had  finally  blown  out  his  candle  and  stretched 

362 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

himself  upon  the  ground,  to  continue  his  turmoil  of 
thinking,  when  abruptly  his  sharp  ear  caught  at 
a  sound  as  of  someone  slipping  on  a  stone  that  turned, 
just  out  upon  the  slope.  He  sat  up  alertly. 

Half  a  minute  passed.  Then  something  heavy 
lurched  against  the  tent,  the  flap  was  lifted,  and  a 
man  appeared,  stooped  double  as  if  in  pain. 

"Who's  there?"  demanded  Van.  "Is  that  you, 
Gett?"  He  caught  up  his  gun,  but  it  and  the 
hand  that  held  it  were  invisible. 

"  It's  me,"  said  a  voice — a  croaking  voice.  "  Matt 
Barger." 

He  fell  on  the  floor,  breathing  in  some  sort  of 
anguish,  and  Van  struck  a  match  to  light  the 
candle. 

The  flame  flared  blindingly  inside  the  canvas  white 
ness.  A  great,  moving  shadow  of  Van  was  pro 
jected  behind  him  on  the  wall.  The  light  gleamed 
brightly  from  his  gun.  But  it  fell  on  an  inert  mass 
where  Barger  had  fallen  to  the  earth. 

He  did  not  move,  and  Van,  mechanically  igniting 
the  candle's  wick,  while  he  eyed  the  man  before  him, 
beheld  dry  blood,  and  some  that  was  fresh,  on  the 
haggard  face,  on  the  tattered  clothing,  and  even 
on  one  loose  hand. 

"Barger!"  he  said.  "What  in  thunder, 
man " 

The  outlaw  rallied  his  failing  strength  and  raised 
himself  up  on  one  hand.  He  could  barely  speak, 
but  his  lips  attempted  a  smile. 

363 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"  I  thought  I  heard  you — call  fer  the  joker,"  he 
said,  "  and  so — I  come." 

Van  was  up.  He  saw  that  the  man  had  been  lit 
erally  shot  to  pieces.  One  of  his  arms  was  broken. 
A  portion  of  his  scalp  was  gone.  He  was  pierced 
in  the  body  and  leg.  He  had  met  the  posse,  fought 
his  fight,  escaped  with  wounds  that  must  have  stopped 
any  animal  on  earth,  and  then  had  dragged  himself 
to  Van,  to  repay  his  final  debt. 

"  I  haven't  called — I  haven't  called  for  anything," 
said  Van.  u  You're  wounded,  man,  you're " 

Barger  rose  up  weakly  to  his  knees. 

"Need  the  money,  don't  you  —  now?"  he 
interrupted.  "  You  can — use  the  reward,  I 
guess." 

"  Good  God,  I  don't  want  that  kind  of  money ! " 
Van  exclaimed.  "  Who  got  you,  Matt — who  got 
you?" 

"Sheriff,"  said  the  convict  dispassionately. 
"  Good  man,  Christler — and  a  pretty  good  shot — 
but  I  got  away  with  his  lead." 

He  slumped  again,  like  a  waxen  thing  on  melting 
props,  deprived  of  all  support. 

Van  plunged  out  to  the  water  bench,  with  its 
bucket,  near  the  door.  He  brought  back  a  basin 
of  water,  knelt  on  the  ground,  and  bathed  the  con 
vict's  face.  He  poured  some  liquor  between  the 
dead-white  lips.  He  slashed  and  unbuttoned  the 
clothing  and  tried  to  staunch  the  wounds.  He 
bound  up  the  arm,  put  a  bandage  on  the  leg  and 

364 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

body,  continuing  from  time  to  time  to  dash  cold 
water  in  the  pallid,  bearded  face. 

Barger  had  fainted  at  last.  What  hideous  tor 
tures  the  fellow  had  endured  to  drag  and  drive  him 
self  across  the  mountain  roughnesses  to  win  to  this 
tent,  Van  could  but  weakly  imagine. 

The  convict  finally  opened  his  eyes  and  blinked  in 
the  light  of  the  candle. 

"  What  in  hell — was  the  use  of  my  comin'  here," 
he  faltered,  "  if  you  don't  take  the  money — the  re 
ward?" 

"  I  don't  want  it !  "  said  Van.  "  I  told  you  that 
before." 

Barger  spoke  with  difficulty. 

"  It's  different  now ;  they've — got  you  in  a  hole. 
Van  Buren,  I'm  your  meat !  I'm — nuthin'  but  meat, 
but  you  acted — as  if  I  was  a  man !  " 

"We're  all  in  a  hole— it's  life,"  said  Van,  con 
tinuing  his  attentions  to  the  wounds.  "  I  don't  want 
a  cent  of  blood-money,  Matt,  if  I  have  to  starve  on 
the  desert.  Now  lie  where  you  are,  and  maybe  go 
to  sleep.  You  won't  be  disturbed  here  till  morn- 
ing." 

"  By  mornin' — all  hell  can't — disturb  me,"  Barger 
told  him  painfully,  with  something  like  a  ghastly 
smile  upon  his  lips.  "  I'm  goin' — there  to  see." 

He  lapsed  off  again  into  coma.  Van  feared  the 
man  was  dead.  But  having  lived  a  stubborn  life, 
Barger  relinquished  his  hold  unwillingly,  despite  his 
having  ceased  at  last  to  care. 

365 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

For  nearly  an  hour  Van  worked  above  him,  on 
the  ground.  Then  the  man  not  only  aroused  as 
before,  but  sat  up,  propped  on  his  arm. 

"  God,  I  had  to — wake !  "  he  said.  "  I  was  sure — 
forgettin'  to  tell  you." 

Van  thought  the  fellow's  mind  was  wandering. 

"  Lie  down,  Matt,  lie  down,"  he  answered.  "  Try 
to  take  it  easy." 

"  Too  late — fer  me  to  take — anything  easy,"  re 
plied  the  outlaw,  speaking  with  a  stronger  voice  than 
heretofore.  "  Gimme  a  drink  of  whisky." 

Van  gave  him  the  drink  and  he  tossed  it  off  at  a 
draught. 

"  I  said  to  myself  I'd  be — hanged  if  I'd  tell  you, 
that — day  you  cheated  the  quicksand,"  Barger  im 
parted  jerkily,  "  but  you've  got — a — right  to  know. 
McCoppet  and  that — pal  of  his  give  Lawrence 
twenty  thousand — dollars,  cash,  to  queer  you  on  the 
— reservation  line  and  run  you  off  your  claim." 

Van  scrutinized  the  sunken  face  and  glittering  eyes 
with  the  closest  attention. 

"  What's  that?  "  he  said.  "  Bought  Lawrence  to 
fake  out  the  reservation  line?  Who  told  you,  Matt? 
Who  told  you  that?" 

The  convict  seemed  to  gain  in  strength.  He  was 
making  a  terrible  effort  to  finish  all  he  had  to  im 
part. 

"  Trimmer  put  me — on  to  all  the  game.  It  was 
him  that  told  me — you  was  goin'  through,  when  I — 
pretty  near  got  you,  in  the  pass." 

366 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

Van's  eyes  took  on  a  deep  intensity. 

"  Trimmer  ?      Trimmer  ?  " 

"  Larry  Trimmer — Pine-tree  Trimmer,"  explained 
the  convict  impatiently.  "  McCoppet — wanted  you 
detained,  the  day  they — jumped  your  claim.  Law 
rence — he  run  the  line  out  crooked  fer — twenty  thou 
sand  bucks.  Culver  was  put  away  by  Cayuse, 
mebbe  because — he  was  square — Larry  wasn't 

sure I  guess — that's  all,  but  it  ought  to 

— help  you  some." 

He  dropped  himself  down  and  languidly  closed  his 
eyes. 

"  Good  heavens,  man,"  said  Van,  still  staring,  "  are 
you  sure  of  what  you're  saying?  " 

There  was  no  response  for  a  time.  Then  Barger 
murmured : 

"  Excuse  me,  Van  Buren,  fer — bein'  so  damn — 
long — dyin'." 

"  You're  not  dying,  Matt — go  to  sleep,"  said 
Van.  "  I'll  be  here  beside  you,  all  night." 

He  sat  down,  got  up  and  sat  down  again,  stirred 
to  the  depths  of  his  being  by  the  story  the  man  had 
revealed.  Beth's  money,  then,  had  gone  for  this, 
to  bribe  a  Government  agent!  A  tumult  of  mad, 
revengeful  thoughts  went  roaring  through  his  mind. 
A  grim  look  came  upon  his  face,  and  fire  was  flashing 
from  his  eyes.  He  arose  and  sat  down  a  dozen  times, 
all  the  while  looking  at  the  worn,  broken  figure  that 
lay  on  the  earth  at  his  feet.  What  an  ill-used,  gaunt, 
and  exhausted  frame  it  was,  loose  and  abandoned  by 

367 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

the  strength  that  once  had  filled  it  with  vigor  and 
might.  What  a  boyish  look  had  come  at  last  upon 
the  haggard,  sunken  face ! 

The  night  wind  was  chill.  He  had  forgotten  for 
himself,  but  he  thought  of  it  now  for  Barger.  He 
laid  his  blankets  on  the  inert  limbs  and  up  around 
the  shoulders. 

Perhaps  another  hour  went  by,  with  Van  still  sleep 
less  by  his  charge.  The  convict  stirred. 

"  Van — Buren,"  he  said  in  a  hoarse,  rattling  whis 
per,  "  Van " 

Van  was  instantly  alert. 

"  Hello." 

Barger  partially  raised  his  hand. 

"  So  long," — and  the  hand  dropped  downward. 

"  Matt !  "  answered  Van,  quickly  kneeling  on  the 
earth.  He  caught  up  the  fingers,  felt  their  faint 
attempt  to  close  upon  his  own — and  the  man  on  the 
ground  was  dead. 


368 


CHAPTER  XLIII 

PREPARING   THE    NET    FOR   A   DRAW 

BETH  KENT,  as  the  sun  was  going  from  the  sky, 
fell  down  three  times  in  utter  exhaustion.  She  and 
the  others  had  come  to  within  a  mile  of  the  "  Laugh 
ing  Water  "  claim.  Pratt  was  far  away  in  the  rear, 
on  the  last  of  his  stations.  Glen,  in  the  lead,  was 
forging  ahead  on  a  second  supply  of  strength.  Hid 
den  from  the  sight  of  either  of  the  others,  Beth  was 
ready  for  collapse. 

But  onward  crept  that  merciless  ribbon  of  steel 
that  Glen  was  dragging.  Three  times  the  girl  rose 
and  stumbled  onward,  up  the  last  acclivity.  Her 
legs  were  like  lead.  She  stubbed  her  toes  on  every 
rock.  She  could  almost  have  cried  with  the  aches 
of  weariness.  It  seemed  as  if  that  terrible  hill  un 
folded  new  and  steeper  slopes  for  every  one  she 
climbed. 

She  went  down  repeatedly.  To  have  lain  there, 
hungry,  but  indifferent  to  anything  but  sleep,  would 
have  been  the  most  heavenly  thing  she  could  conceive. 
She  was  literally  falling  up  the  hill,  with  all  her 
machinery  slumping  towards  inertia,  when  finally 
Pratt,  on  his  distant  hill,  sent  the  signal  for  Glen 
to  halt. 

369 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"  All  right,  Beth — rest !  "  he  called  from  the  end 
of  the  chain,  and  she  sank  at  once  in  her  tracks. 

It  was  almost  dusk  when  Pratt  came  toiling  up 
the  hill.  Glen  had  come  down  to  Beth's  position. 
He  too  was  thoroughly  tired.  How  the  line  had 
come  out  was  more  than  he  could  care.  But  Beth, 
with  the  last  of  her  flickering  strength,  arose  to 
hasten  Pratt. 

"  No  use  in  the  three  of  us  being  seen,"  he  said, 
planting  his  transit  in  the  sand,  but  making  no  effort 
to  adjust  it  to  a  level.  "  That  ridge  there  overlooks 
the  claim.  I'll  climb  up  alone  and  take  a  bird's- 
eye  view." 

"  We're  as  near  as  that ! "  cried  Beth  in  startled 
surprise.  "  Then  what  do  you  think?  Does  the 
line  include  the  claim?  " 

"  I'll  have  to  look  around  from  the  ridge,"  repeated 
Pratt  with  aggravating  caution.  "  You  can  wait 
ten  minutes  here." 

He  started  laboriously  up  the  slope — and  Beth 
stood  tensely  watching.  She  thought  she  saw  him 
top  the  ridge,  but  he  disappeared  from  sight. 

The  darkness  was  gathering  swiftly  in  all  the  des 
ert  world.  The  girl's  excitement  and  impatience 
grew  with  a  new  flare  up  of  energy.  To  think  that 
Searle  was  so  near  at  hand,  with  fate  a-hover  in 
the  air,  sent  her  pulses  bounding  madly. 

It  seemed  as  if  Pratt  would  never  return  from  the 
hill.  She  could  almost  have  dashed  to  the  summit 
herself,  to  learn  the  outcome  of  their  labors.  Then 

370 


Preparing  the  Net  for  a  Draw 

at  last,  from  a  small  ravine,  not  far  away,  he  ap 
peared  in  his  leisurely  manner. 

Beth  ran  along  the  slope  to  meet  him. 

"  Well?  "  she  cried.      "  What  did  you  find?  " 

He  smiled.  "  Unless  I'm  crazy,  Lawrence  is  either 
a  liar  or  a  fool.  That  claim  is  safe  outside  the 
line  by  nearly  an  eighth  of  a  mile." 

"  Oh ! "  cried  the  girl.  She  collapsed  on  the 
ground  and  sobbed  in  exhaustion  and  joy. 

She  could  go  no  further.  She  had  kept  her 
strength  and  courage  up  for  this,  and  now,  inside 
the  goal,  she  cared  not  what  might  happen. 

They  camped  upon  the  spot.  The  man  with  the 
car,  which  had  taken  them  out,  had  been  ordered  to 
meet  them  down  at  Reservation  town — the  mushroom 
camp  which  had  sprung  into  being  no  more  than  a 
week  before  the  rush.  All  the  way  down  there  Pratt 
continued  alone.  He  and  the  chauffeur,  long  after 
dark,  returned  with  provisions  and  blankets.  They 
had  driven  the  car  as  far  as  possible,  then  climbed 
the  ravine  on  foot. 

At  nine  o'clock  Beth  was  asleep  beneath  the  stars, 
dreaming  of  her  meeting  with  Van. 

At  daylight  all  were  up,  and  in  the  chill  of  the 
rarified  mountain  air  were  walking  stiffly  to  the  car. 
The  chauffeur,  who  had  slept  in  his  machine,  prom 
ised  breakfast  by  eight  at  Mrs.  Dick's.  He  tore 
up  the  road  and  he  tore  away  their  breath,  but  he 
came  into  Goldite  half  an  hour  ahead  of  time,  and 
claimed  he  had  driven  "  pretty  slow." 

371 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

Meantime,  the  night  in  the  mining-camp  had 
brought  no  untoward  excitement.  Van,  at  his  tent, 
with  the  covered  figure  lying  on  the  earth,  had  wel 
comed  his  partners  at  midnight  with  the  news  that 
a  "  homeless  and  worn-out  pilgrim  of  the  desert " 
had  come  desiring  rest.  He  was  sleeping  hard;  he 
was  not  to  be  disturbed.  In  the  morning  he  was 
scheduled  to  depart. 

Tired  to  utter  unconcern,  the  three  old  worthies 
made  their  beds  with  Van  beside  the  man  at  peace. 
And  the  whole  five  slept  with  a  trust  and  aban 
don  to  nature  that  balanced  the  living  and  the 
dead. 

Van  was  out,  had  eaten  his  breakfast,  and  was 
waiting  for  the  sheriff  when  Beth  and  her  party 
returned.  He  beheld  them,  felt  his  heart  lift  upward 
like  a  lever  in  his  breast,  at  sight  of  Beth  in  her  male 
attire,  and  grimly  shut  his  jaws. 

Christler,  the  sheriff,  arrived  a  little  after  eight, 
bringing  in  a  wounded  deputy.  Barger  had  shot 
him  in  the  thigh.  Van  did  not  wait  for  his  man 
to  eat,  but  urged  him  home  to  his  bachelor  shack 
and  sat  him  down  to  a  drink  of  something  strong, 
with  a  cracker  to  munch  for  a  meal. 

Christler  was  tired.  He  was  somewhat  stout ;  he 
had  been  in  the  saddle  almost  constantly  for  weeks, 
and  now,  as  a  victim  of  chagrin  and  disappointment, 
he  was  utterly  dejected  and  done. 

"  Good  Lord,  Van,  ain't  a  man  to  breathe — ain't 
he  got  no  rights  to  live,  whatsoever?  "  he  inquired. 

372 


Preparing  the  Net  for  a  Draw 

"You'd  chase  me  up,  or  somebody  would,  if  I  was 
in  my  grave."' 

"  You'd  break  out  of  your  grave,"  Van  told  him, 
"  if  you  knew  what's  going  on." 

Christler  looked  dubious,  draining  at  his  glass. 

"  Well,  I  dunno.  It  'ud  have  to  be  something 
pretty  rich." 

"  Bill,"  said  Van,  "  you're  going  to  stand  in  and 
work  with  me  as  you  haven't  worked  for  a  year. 
It's  going  to  be  worth  it.  Opal  McCoppet,  and  one 
Searle  Bostwick,  of  New  York,  have  stolen  my  claim 
by  corrupting  Lawrence  for  twenty  thousand  dollars, 
running  a  false  reservation  line,  and  maybe  putting 
Culver  out  of  the  way  because  he  was  square  in  his 
business." 

Christler  paused  in  the  act  of  biting  his  cracker. 

"What!" 

"  There's  going  to  be  something  doing,  Bill,"  Van 
added,  leaning  forward  on  the  table.  "  I'm  going 
to  round  up  all  this  gang  to-day  if  it  kills  you  to 
keep  on  the  trail." 

Christler  still  sat  staring. 

"  By  the  Lord  Harry  !  "  he  said.  "  By  the  Lord— 
but,  Van,  I  didn't  come  home  to  rest.  I've  got  Barger 
going,  somewhere,  shot  to  a  sieve.  But  he's  some 
disappeared.  If  that  ain't  just  my  luck!  I'm  goin' 
to  git  him  though,  you  bet !  Lord ! — my  pride — 
my  profession  pride — not  to  mention  that  little  old 
reward !  I  admit  I  want  that  money,  Van.  I  reckon 
I've  pretty  near " 

373 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"  Yes,  you've  earned  it,"  Van  interrupted.  "  I'm 
going  to  see  that  you  get  it,  Bill,  but  first  you  get 
busy  with  me." 

"You'll  see  that  I  get "  Christler  put  the 

cracker  in  his  mouth.  "  Don't  talk  to  a  genuine 
friend  like  that.  I'm  tired  already." 

"Are  you?"  said  Van.  "Let's  see.  Barger  is 
here — in  camp." 

Up  shot  the  sheriff  as  if  from  the  force  of  a  blast. 

"  What !  "  he  shrilled.     "  Barger !    Van,  I'll " 

Van  grinned. 

"  Don't  forget  you're  tired,  Bill.  Matt  won't  get 
away." 

"  Good  Lord,  boy — tell  me  where's  he  at !  "  cried 
Christler,  dancing  on  the  floor  as  he  strapped  his 
guns  upon  him.  "Me  a-thinkin'  I  had  shot  him  up 
and  all  this  time " 

"  You  shot  him  enough,  poor  devil,"  Van  inter 
rupted  quietly.  "  He's  dead  in  my  tent  on  the  hill." 

The  sheriff  paused  with  one  hand  held  in  the  air. 

"  Dead !  Crawled  all  the  way  to  Goldite !  "  He 
started  for  the  door. 

"  Hold  on,"  said  the  horseman,  blocking  his  path. 
"  I  told  you  Matt  can't  get  away.  We're  going  out 
to  get  Lawrence  first,  and  then  McCoppet  and  his 
friend." 


374 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

THE   ENGINES   OF   CLIMAX 

McCoppET  was  in  town.  He  had  come  to  camp 
at  midnight  of  the  previous  day,  duly  followed  by 
his  friend  Larry  Trimmer.  The  lumberman  had 
waxed  impatient.  Fully  two  thousand  dollars  of  the 
money  he  had  "  earned  "  was  still  unpaid — and  hard 
to  get.  He  had  gone  to  the  "  Laughing  Water  " 
claim,  in  vain,  and  a  surly  heat  was  rising  in  his 
veins. 

Bostwick  was  due,  in  his  car,  at  nine  o'clock. 
His  visit  to  Goldite  was  not  entirely  one  of  business. 
He  had  grown  alarmed  at  the  lack  of  news  from  Beth. 
His  letters  had  been  ignored.  He  not  only  feared 
for  the  fate  of  his  affairs  of  the  heart,  but  perhaps 
even  more  for  what  she  might  have  done  with  respect 
to  the  money  she  had  asked  him  to  return,  a  very 
small  proportion  of  which  he  was  now  prepared  to 
repay. 

Meantime,  Beth,  her  brother,  and  Pratt  had  grati 
fied  their  most  crying  needs  on  Algy's  cooking,  much 
to  that  worthy  Celestial's  delight.  There  were  two 
things  Beth  intended  to  perform:  report  the  results 

375 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

of  her  labors  to  Van,  and  attack  Mr.  Lawrence  in 
his  den. 

Precisely  what  she  meant  to  say  or  do  to  the 
Government  representative  she  did  not  or  could  not 
determine.  Some  vague  idea  of  making  him  confess 
to  an  infamy  practiced  at  Bostwick's  instance  was 
the  most  she  had  in  mind.  If  half  the  success  already 
achieved  could  be  expected  here,  she  would  have  a 
report  worth  while  to  make  when  Van  should  be 
presently  encountered. 

Impetuous,  eager  to  hasten  with  her  work,  she  in 
sisted  upon  an  immediate  advance.  Glenmore  readily 
supported  her  position.  Pratt  developed  shyness. 
His  forte  was  hiking  over  desert  hills,  lugging  a 
transit,  running  lines  or  levels;  he  felt  out  of  place 
as  a  fighter,  or  even  an  accuser.  Nevertheless,  he 
went,  for  Beth  insisted. 

Already  the  streets  were  crowded  full  of  life,  as 
the  three  proceeded  down  the  thoroughfare.  A  min 
ing-camp  is  a  restless  thing;  its  peoples  live  in  the 
streets.  Freight  teams,  flowing  currents  of  men, 
chains  of  dusty  mules,  disordered  cargoes  on  the  side 
walks,  and  a  couple  of  automobiles  were  glaringly 
cut  out  from  their  shadows,  as  the  sunlight  poured 
upon  them.  Sunlight  and  motion,  false-fronted 
buildings,  tents,  and  mountains,  and  fever — that  is 
the  camp  on  the  desert. 

With  excitement  increasing  upon  her  at  every  step, 
Beth  glanced  at  the  crowds  in  a  rapid  search  for 
Van.  He  was  not  to  be  seen.  In  all  the  throng, 

376 


The  Engines  of  Climax 

where  old  men  and  youths,  pale  and  swarthy,  lazy 
and  alert  were  circulating  like  the  blood  of  Goldite's 
arteries,  there  was  not  a  face  that  she  knew. 

They  came  to  the  office  where  Lawrence  presided 
just  as  a  stranger  was  departing.  Lawrence  was 
alone.  He  occupied  the  inner  apartment,  as  Culver 
had  done,  but  the  door  was  standing  open. 

It  was  Beth  who  knocked  and  entered  first  as  the 
man  called  out  his  invitation.  She  had  never  in  her  life 
appeared  more  beautiful.  Color  was  flaming  in  her 
cheeks  as  on  a  rose.  Her  eyes  were  exceptionally 
bright  and  brown.  The  exquisite  coral  of  her  lips 
was  delicately  tremulous  with  all  her  short,  quick 
breathing. 

Lawrence  arose,  as  she  and  the  others  appeared 
in  the  door,  and  removed  his  hat.  He  was  a  short, 
florid  person,  with  a  beard  of  fiery  red.  His  eyes 
were  of  the  lightest  gray ;  and  they  were  shifting. 

"  Good-morning,"  he  said,  in  undisguised  astonish 
ment,  beholding  Beth.  "  You — pardon  me — 
you-  -" 

"Good-morning,"  Beth  replied  faintly.  "We 
called — are  you  Mr.  Lawrence?  " 

"  At  your  service."  Lawrence  bowed.  "  I  rarely 
expect — in  my  line  of  work — my  business,  Miss — 
Miss " 

"  Miss  Kent,"  said  Glenmore,  interrupting.  "  And 
my  name  is  Kent.  I  suppose  you're  wise  to  Mr. 
Pratt." 

Lawrence  continued  to  bow. 

377 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"  I'm  very  happy  to — how  are  you,  Pratt?  How 
are  you?  Won't  you  have  a  chair,  Miss  Kent?  " 

Pratt  nodded  and  murmured  a  greeting.  He  was 
decidedly  uneasy. 

Beth  always  moved  by  impulse.  It  hastened  her 
now  to  the  issue.  She  sat  down  and  faced  their 
man. 

"  Mr.  Lawrence,"  she  said,  "  I  believe  you  ran  the 
reservation  line,  not  long  ago,  and  gave  Mr.  Bost- 
wick  and  a  friend  of  his  the  '  Laughing  Water ' 
claim." 

Lawrence  looked  alive. 

"  I  certainly  ran  the  line,"  he  said.  "  Instructions 
came  from — from  headquarters,  to  ascertain  the  pre 
cise  limitations  of  the  reservation.  The  results  gave 
the  '  Laughing  Water  '  claim  to  its  present  owners, 
by  right  of  prior  location,  after  the  opening  hour, 
as  the  claim  was  included  in  the  tract."  He  had 
uttered  this  speech  before.  It  fell  very  glibly  from 
his  tongue. 

"  Yes,  we  know  all  that — so  far  as  it's  true,"  said 
Beth  with  startling  candor,  u  but  we  know  it  isn't 
true  at  all,  and  you've  got  to  confess  that  you 
made  some  ridiculous  blunder  or  else  that  you  were 
bribed." 

She  had  not  intended  to  plump  it  out  so  bluntly, 
so  baldly,  but  a  certain  indignation  in  her  breast 
had  been  rapidly  increasing,  and  her  impulse  was 
not  to  be  stayed. 

"  Gee !  "  murmured  Glen,  "  that's  going  some ! " 

378 


The  Engines  of  Climax 

Lawrence  turned  white,  whether  with  anger  or 
fright  could  not  have  been  determined. 

"  Miss  Kent ! "  he  said.  "  You — you're  making 
a  very  serious " 

"  Oh,  I  know !  "  she  interrupted.  u  I  expect  you 
to  deny  it.  But  a  great  deal  of  money — my  money 
— has  been  used,  and  Mr.  Pratt  has  run  the  line — 
with  myself  and  my  brother — yesterday — so  we  know 
that  you've  either  been  fooled  or  you've  cheated." 

Lawrence  had  risen.      His  face  was  scarlet. 

"  Upon  my  word !  "  he  said.  "  Pratt,  you  and 
your  friend  I  can  order  from  the  office !  The 
lady " 

"  You  can't  order  anything ! — not  a  thing !  "  said 
Beth.  "  Glen !  Mr.  Pratt ! — you've  got  to  stay  and 
help!  I  know  the  truth — and  it's  got  to  be  con 
fessed!  Mr.  Van  Buren " 

"  I  can  leave  myself,  since  you  insist  upon  remain 
ing,"  interrupted  Lawrence,  taking  his  hat  and  strid 
ing  towards  the  door,  in  a  panic  to  get  to  McCoppet 
for  much-needed  aid.  "  Such  an  utterly  unheard  of 
affront  as  this " 

"  Glen !  run  and  find  Mr.  Van  Buren !  "  Beth  broke 
in  excitedly.  "  Don't  let  him  go,  Mr.  Pratt !  " 

Lawrence  had  reached  his  outer  office  and  was 
almost  at  the  door.  Beth  was  hastening  after,  with 
Glen  at  her  heels.  All  were  abruptly  halted. 

Van  and  the  sheriff  appeared  in  the  door,  before 
which  idlers  were  passing.  Beth  was  wild  with  joy. 

"  Van,"  she  cried,  "  Oh,  Mr.  Van  Buren,  I'm  sure 

379 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

this  man  has  cheated  you  out  of  your  claim!  We 
ran  the  line  ourselves — my  brother,  Mr.  Pratt,  and  I 
— yesterday — we  finished  yesterday !  We  found  the 
claim  is  not  inside  the  reservation !  My  money  was 
used — I'm  sure  for  bribery !  But  they've  got  to  give 
you  back  your  claim,  if  it  takes  every  penny  I've 
got !  I  was  sending  Glen  to  let  you  know.  I  asked 
Mr.  Lawrence  to  confess !  You  won't  let  him  go ! 
You  mustn't  let  him  go !  I  am  sure  there's  something 
dreadful  going  on !  " 

It  was  a  swift,  impassioned  speech,  clear,  ringing, 
honest  in  every  word.  It  thrilled  Van  wondrously, 
despite  the  things  that  had  been — her  letter,  and 
subsequent  events.  He  all  but  lost  track  of  the  busi 
ness  in  hand,  in  the  light  of  her  sudden  revelations. 
He  did  not  answer  readily,  and  Lawrence  broke  out 
in  protestation. 

"  It's  infamous  !  "  he  cried.  "  If  anyone  here  ex 
cept  a  woman  had  charged — had  been  guilty  of  all 
these  outrageous  lies " 

Half  a  dozen  loiterers  had  halted  at  the  door,  at 
tracted  by  the  shrill  high  tones  of  his  voice. 

"  That's  enough  of  that,  Lawrence,"  Van  inter 
rupted  quietly.  "  Every  word  of  this  is  true.  You 
accepted  twenty  thousand  dollars  to  falsify  that  line. 
Your  chief  was  murdered  to  get  him  out  of  the  way, 
because  it  was  known  you  could  be  bribed.  I  came 
here  to  get  you,  and  I'll  get  all  the  crowd,  if  it  kills 
half  the  town  in  the  fight."  With  one  quick  move 
ment  he  seized  his  man  by  the  collar.  "  Here,  Bill, 

380 


The  Engines  of  Climax 

hustle  him  out,"  he  said  to  Christler.  "  We've  got 
no  time  to  waste." 

Lawrence,  the  sheriff,  and  himself  were  projected 
out  upon  the  sidewalk  by  one  of  his  quick  maneuvers. 
A  crowd  of  men  came  running  to  the  place.  Above 
the  rising  murmur  of  their  voices,  raised  in  excite 
ment,  came  a  shrill  and  strident  cry. 

"  Van !  Van ! "  was  the  call  from  someone  in  the 
crowd. 

It  was  lean  old  Gettysburg.  Dave  and  Napoleon 
were  pantingly  chasing  where  he  ran. 

"  Van !  "  yelled  Gettysburg  again.  "  It's  Barger ! 
— Barger ! — dead  in  the  tent — it's  Barger — up  there 
—dead!" 

Barger !  The  name  acted  as  swiftly  on  the  crowd 
as  oil  upon  a  flame.  It  seemed  as  if  the  wave  of 
news  swept  like  a  tide  across  the  street,  down  the 
thoroughfare,  and  into  every  shop. 

Two  automobiles  were  halted  in  the  road,  their 
engines  purring  as  they  stood.  Their  drivers  dis 
mounted  to  join  the  gathering  throng.  One  of  the 
men  was  Bostwick,  down  from  the  hills.  He  had 
searched  for  Beth  at  Mrs.  Dick's,  and  then  had  fol 
lowed  here. 

"  Barger !  Barger's  dead  in  camp  and  the  '  Laugh 
ing  Water  '  claim  was  stolen — and  Culver  killed !  " 
One  man  bawled  it  to  the  crowd — and  it  sped  to  Bost- 
wick's  ears. 

One  being  only  departed  from  the  scene — Trim 
mer,  the  lumberman,  swiftly  seeking  McCoppet. 

381 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

Van,  in  his  heat,  had  told  too  much,  accusing  the 
prisoner  in  hand.  He  silenced  Gettysburg  abruptly 
and  started  to  force  aside  the  crowd. 

"  Gentlemen,  gentlemen,  move  aside,"  he  said. 
"  I've  got— by  Jupe  !  there's  Bostwick !  " 

It  was  Bostwick  fleeing  to  his  car  that  Van  had 
discovered.  Searle  had  seen  enough  in  the  briefest 
of  glances.  He  had  heard  too  much.  He  realized 
that  only  in  flight  could  the  temper  of  the  mob  be 
avoided.  He  had  seen  this  mob  in  action  once  before 
— and  the  walls  of  his  stomach  caved. 

Like  a  youthful  Hercules  in  strength  and  action, 
Van  went  plunging  through  the  crowd  to  get  his 
man.  But  he  could  not  win.  Bostwick  had  speeded 
up  his  motor  in  a  panic  for  haste  and  his  car  leaped 
away  like  a  dragon  on  wings,  the  muffler  cut-out  roar 
ing  like  a  gattling. 

Van  might  perhaps  have  shot  and  killed  the  escap 
ing  man  who  held  the  wheel,  but  he  wanted  Searle 
alive. 

A  roar  from  the  crowd  replied  to  the  car.  A 
score  of  men  ran  madly  in  pursuit.  None  of  them 
knew  the  details  of  the  case,  but  they  knew  that 
Bostwick  was  wanted. 

They  drifted  rearward  from  the  hurtling  car  like 
fragments  of  paper  in  its  wake.  The  few  down 
street  who  danced  for  a  moment  before  the  modern 
juggernaut,  to  stop  it  in  its  course,  sprang  nimbly 
away  as  it  rocketed  past — and  Searle  was  headed  for 
the  desert. 

382 


The  Engines  of  Climax 

One  wild,  sweeping  glance  Van  cast  about,  for  a 
horse  or  something  to  ride.  Suvy  was  stabled,  un 
saddled,  up  the  street.  Bostwick  and  his  cloud  of 
dust  were  dropping  away  in  a  swiftly  narrowing  per 
spective.  And  there  stood  a  powerful,  dusty-red  car 
— empty — its  motor  in  motion  ! 

There  was  no  time  to  search  for  its  owner.  There 
were  half  a  dozen  different  cars  with  which  Van 
Buren  was  familiar.  He  ran  to  it,  glanced  at  its 
levers,  wheel,  and  clutch,  recognized  the  one  type 
he  had  coveted,  and  hurled  himself  into  the  seat. 

"  Here !  You !  "  yelled  the  owner,  fighting  through 
the  crowd,  but  three  big  miners  fell  upon  him  and 
bore  him  to  the  earth.  They  hoped  to  see  a 
race. 

They  saw  it  begin  with  a  promptness  incredible. 
One — two  changes  of  the  snarling  gears  they  heard 
before  the  deafening  cut-out  belched  its  explosions. 
Then  down  the  street,  in  pursuit  of  the  first,  the 
second  machine  was  fired. 

The  buildings,  to  Van,  were  blended  in  grayish 
streaks,  on  either  side,  as  his  gaze  was  fastened  on 
the  vanishing  car  ahead.  He  shoved  up  his  spark, 
gave  her  all  the  gas,  froze  to  the  wheel  like  a  man  of 
steel — and  swooped  like  a  ground-skimming  comet 
out  upon  the  world. 

The  road  for  a  distance  of  fully  five  miles  was 
comparatively  level.  It  was  rutted  by  the  wheels  of 
heavy  traffic,  but  with  tires  in  the  dusty  ruts  a  car 
ran  unimpeded. 

383 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

Both  for  a  time  were  in  the  road,  flaying 
up  a  cloud  of  smoke  like  a  cyclone  ripping  out  its 
path. 

Searle  had  not  only  gained  a  half-mile  lead,  but 
his  car  was  apparently  swifter.  He  knew  its  every 
trick  and  ounce  of  power.  He  drove  superbly.  He 
was  reckless  now,  for  he  had  not  missed  the  knowl 
edge  that  behind  him  was  a  meteor  burning  up  his 
trail. 

Like  a  leaping  beast — a  road-devouring  minotaur 
— the  car  with  Van  shot  roaringly  through  space. 
He  could  not  tell  that  Searle,  ahead,  was  slipping 
yet  further  in  the  lead.  He  only  knew  that,  come 
what  might,  till  the  mechanism  burst,  or  the  earth 
should  split,  he  would  chase  his  man  across  the  desert. 
The  dust  in  the  air  from  Bostwick's  car  drove  blind- 
ingly  upon  him.  Far,  far  away,  a  mere  speck  on 
the  road,  he  beheld  a  freight-team  approaching — a 
team  of  twenty  animals  at  least,  that  he  and  Bost- 
wick  must  encounter. 

A  sudden  memory  of  road  conditions  decided  him 
to  move.  The  ruts  where  he  was  were  bad  enough 
— they  were  worse  where  the  team  must  be  passed. 

He  did  not  reduce  his  speed  to  take  to  the  brush. 
The  car  beneath  him  flung  clean  off  the  ground  as 
he  swung  to  climb  out  of  the  grooves.  It  landed 
with  all  four  wheels  a-spin,  but  only  struck  on  two. 
A  sudden  swerve,  far  out  of  the  course,  and  the 
monster  righted  abruptly.  Another  sharp  turn, 
and  away  it  went  again,  crushing  the  brush  and  fling- 

384 


The  Engines  of  Climax 

ing  up  the  sand  in  a  track  of  its  own  that  paralleled 
the  road,  but  rougher  though  free  from  the  ruts. 

The  brush  was  small,  six  inches  high,  but  the 
wheels  bounced  over  it  madly.  The  whole  car  hurtled 
and  bounded  in  a  riot  of  motion.  It  dived,  it  plunged 
nose  upward,  it  roared  like  a  fiend — but  it  shot  with 
cannon-ball  velocity  across  the  desert's  floor. 

Five  minutes  later  Bostwick's  car  was  almost  front 
ing  the  team  in  the  road,  with  its  score  of  dusty  mules. 
He  dared  not  take  the  ruts  at  speed,  and  groaned 
as  he  slowed  to  climb  the  bank.  He  lost  but  little 
time,  however,  since  once  on  the  side  he  was  going 
ahead  again  like  mad;  nevertheless,  he  cast  a  glance 
behind  and  saw  that  his  gap  had  narrowed.  More- 
over,  he  would  not  attempt  to  return  to  the  ruts  as 
before,  as  a  second  of  the  teams  was  coming  a  mile 
or  so  away. 

Like  two  pitching  porpoises,  discharging  fiery 
wrath  and  skimming  the  gray  of  the  desert  sea, 
the  two  devices  raced  upon  the  brush.  And  nerve 
began  to  tell.  Van  was  absolutely  reckless;  Searle 
was  not.  The  former  would  have  crowded  on  an 
other  notch  of  speed,  but  Bostwick  feared,  and  shut 
off  a  trifle  of  his  power.  Even  then  he  was  rocking, 
quivering,  careening  onward  like  a  star  escaped  from 
its  course ;  and  the  gains  Van  made  were  slow. 

The  man  on  the  second  team  paused  to  see  them 
pass.  In  smoke  and  dust  and  with  war's  own  din 
they  cleaved  the  startled  air.  And  the  man  who 
saw  the  look  that  had  set  on  Van's  hard-chiseled  face 

385 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

was  aware  that  unless  his  car  should  fail  there  was 
nothing  on  earth  he  could  not  catch. 

Bostwick  had  begun  to  weaken.  The  pace  over 
sage-brush,  rocks,  and  basins  of  sand  was  racking 
both  the  car  and  the  nerves  that  held  the  wheel.  How 
long  such  a  flight  could  be  continued  he  dared  not 
guess.  Even  steel  has  limitations.  To  what  he 
was  fleeing  he  could  scarcely  have  told,  since  the 
telegraph  would  send  its  word  throughout  the  desert- 
land,  and  overhaul  him  finally. 

A  sickening  apprehension  assailed  him,  however, 
within  the  minute.  One  of  his  cylinders  was  missing. 
His  trained  ear  caught  at  the  change  of  the  "  tune," 
and  he  felt  his  speed  decreasing.  He  glanced  back 
briefly,  where  the  dusty  lump  of  steel,  like  a  red-hot 
projectile,  thundered  in  his  wake. 

He  beheld  a  sudden  fan-like  flare  of  dust  in  the 
cloud  Van  was  making.  He  even  faintly  heard  the 
far  report,  and  a  grim  joy  sprang  in  his  being. 

Van  had  blown  out  a  tire.  Striking  the  high 
places,  crowding  on  the  speed,  holding  to  a  straight 
away  course  like  a  merciless  fate,  the  horseman  heard 
an  air  cushion  go,  felt  the  lurch  and  lameness  of  the 
car,  and  steadied  it  back  upon  its  road.  He  did  not 
retreat  by  so  much  as  a  hair  the  lever  advancing  his 
spark.  He  did  not  budge  the  gas  control,  but  left 
it  still  wide  open.  If  all  of  his  tires  should  blow  out 
together  he  would  not  halt  his  pace.  He  would 
drive  that  car  to  destruction,  or  to  triumph  in  the 
race. 

386 


The  Engines  of  Climax 

Searle's  rejoicing  endured  but  the  briefest  span. 
His  motor  had  begun  again  to  splutter,  in  mechanical 
death.  Then,  with  a  sudden  memory,  sweat  broke 
out  on  Bostwick's  face.  His  gasolene  was  gone! 
He  had  thoroughly  intended  refilling  his  tank,  having 
barely  had  a  sufficient  supply  to  run  him  from  the 
claim  to  camp ;  and  this  had  been  neglected. 

His  car  bumped  slowly  for  a  score  of  yards,  then 
died  by  the  side  of  the  road.  He  leaped  out  madly, 
to  assure  himself  the  tank  was  really  dry.  He  cursed, 
he  raved.  It  seemed  absurd  for  this  big,  hot  crea 
ture  to  be  dead.  And  meantime,  like  a  whirlwind 
coming  on,  Van  Buren  was  crashing  down  upon 
him. 

"  By  God !  "  he  cried,  "  I'll  fix  you  for  this ! "  and 
a  wild  thought  flashed  to  his  mind — a  thought  of  tak 
ing  Van  Buren's  car  and  fleeing  as  before. 

He  leaped  in  the  tonneau  and  caught  up  a  heavy 
revolver,  stored  beneath  the  seat.  He  glanced  at  the 
clinder.  Four  of  the  cartridges  only  were  unused. 
He  remained  inside  the  "  fort "  of  the  car,  with  the 
weapon  cocked  and  lowered  out  of  sight. 

Charging  down  like  a  meteor,  melting  its  very 
course,  Van  and  the  red  car  came  by  leaps  and 
plunges.  He  was  shutting  off  the  power  gradually, 
but  still  rushing  up  with  frightening  speed,  when 
Bostwick  raised  his  gun  and  fired. 

The  bullet  went  wide,  and  Van  came  on.  Bost 
wick  steadied  and  fired  again.  There  was  no  such 
thing  as  halting  the  demon  in  the  car.  But  the 

387 


•The  Furnace  of  Gold 

target's  size  was  rapidly  increasing!  Nevertheless, 
the  third  shot  missed,  like  the  others.  Would  the 
madman  never  halt? 

Bostwick  dropped  a  knee  to  the  floor,  steadied  the 
barrel  on  the  cushion,  lined  up  the  sights,  and  pulled 
the  trigger. 

With  the  roar  of  the  weapon  Van  abruptly 
drooped.  The  bullet  had  pierced  his  shoulder.  And 
he  still  came  on.  His  face  had  suddenly  paled;  his 
lips  had  hardened  in  a  manner  new  to  his  face.  He 
halted  the  car,  aware  that  his  foe  had  exhausted  his 
ammunition,  since  no  more  shots  were  fired. 

His  own  big  gun  he  drew  deliberately.  To  sustain 
himself,  through  the  shock  of  his  wound,  was  draining 
the  utmost  of  his  nerve.  He  was  hardly  ten  feet 
away  from  the  man  who  stood  there,  a  captive  in  his 
car. 

"  Well,  Searle,"  he  said,  "  you're  a  better  shot  than 
I  thought — and  a  better  driver.  In  fact  you  drive 
so  almighty  well  I  am  going  to  let  you  drive  me  back 
to  camp."  He  arose  from  his  seat.  He  was  bleed 
ing.  His  left  arm  was  all  but  useless.  "  Come 
down,"  he  added.  "  Come  down  and  take  my  seat. 
And  don't  make  the  slightest  error  in  etiquette, 
Searle,  or  I'll  see  if  a  forty-some-odd  ball  will  bounce 
when  it  lands  on  your  skull." 

Bostwick  had  expected  to  be  shot  on  the  spot.  No 
cornered  rat  could  have  been  more  abjectly  afraid. 
His  nerve  had  oozed  away  the  more  for  the  grimness 
of  the  man  who  stood  before  him — a  man  with  such 

388 


The  Engines  of  Climax 

a  wound  as  that  who  was  still  the  master  of  his 
forces ! 

He  was  terribly  white.  His  teeth  fairly  chattered 
in  his  head.  He  had  played  a  desperate  part — and 
lost.  The  race  and  this  present  denouement  had 
shattered  the  man  completely.  He  came  down  to  the 
ground  and  stood  there,  silently  staring  at  Van. 

Despite  his  show  of  strength  Van  stepped  with 
difficulty  to  the  back  of  his  car  and  seated  himself 
within. 

"  Up  in  the  seat  there,  Searle,"  he  repeated,  "  and 
drive  back  at  moderate  speed." 

Bostwick's  surrender  was  complete.  He  climbed 
to  the  driver's  position,  still  silently,  and  started  the 
car  in  an  automatic  way  that  knew  no  thought  of 
resistance.  At  the  rear  of  his  head  Van  held  the 
gun,  and  back  towards  Goldite  they  rolled. 

Two  miles  out  the  sheriff,  in  a  borrowed  car, 
grimly  seated  at  the  driver's  side,  came  bearing 
down  upon  them.  The  cars  were  halted  long  enough 
for  the  sheriff  to  take  his  place  with  Searle,  and 
then  they  hastened  on. 

Christler  had  instantly  seen  that  Van  was  wounded. 
He  as  quickly  realized  that  to  rush  Van  to  town 
and  medical  attendance  was  the  only  possible  plan. 

He  merely  said,  "  You're  hurt." 

Van  tried  to  smile.  "  Slightly  punctured."  He 
was  rapidly  losing  strength. 

Christler  thought  to  divert  him.  He  shouted 
above  the  purring  of  the  car. 

389 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"  Found  Matt  all  right.  I'm  goin'  to  take  him 
back  to  the  State  authorities  in  that  convict  suit 
that's  hangin'  'round  the  store." 

Van  was  instantly  aroused.  "  No  you  don't  Bill ! 
No  you  don't !  I've  got  use  for  those  stripes  my 
self.  You'll  buy  Matt  the  best  suit  of  clothes  in 
town,  and  charge  the  bill  to  me." 

If  Bostwick  heard,  or  understood,  he  did  not  make 
a  sign.  He  was  driving  like  a  servant  on  the  box, 
but  he  could  not  have  stood  on  his  feet. 

They  were  nearing  the  town.  A  cavalcade  of 
horsemen,  drivers  of  buggies,  and  men  on  foot  came 
excitedly  trooping  down  the  road  to  meet  the  short 
procession. 

Despite  his  utmost  efforts,  Van  was  gone.  Weak 
from  the  loss  of  blood  and  the  shock,  he  could  hold 
up  his  frame  no  longer. 

"  Bill,"  he  said,  as  the  sheriff  turned  around,  "  I 
guess  I'm — all  in — for  a  little.  Cold  storage  him, 
till  I  get  back  on  my  feet." 

He  waved  a  loose  gesture  towards  Bostwick,  then 
sank  unconscious  on  the  floor. 


390 


CHAPTER  XLV 

THE    LAST    CIGARS 

TRIMMER,  the  lumberman,  not  to  be  stayed,  had 
broken  in  upon  McCoppet  ruthlessly,  with  percep 
tions  unerring  concerning  the  troubles  in  the  air, 
when  Lawrence  was  arrested.  The  gambler  con 
sented  to  an  interview  with  instinctive  regard  for 
his  safety.  That  something  significant  was  laid  on 
Trimmer's  mind  he  felt  with  a  subtle  sense  of  divina 
tion. 

The  lumberman,  smoking  furiously,  came  to  his 
point  with  utmost  directness. 

"  Opal,"  he  said,  "  I'm  goin'  away,  and  I  want  ten 
thousand  dollars.  I  want  it  now.  You  owe  me 
some  you  ain't  paid  up,  and  now  I'm  raisin'  the 
ante." 

"  You're  raising  bunions,"  McCoppet  assured  him 
softly,  throwing  away  his  unsmoked  cigar  and  put 
ting  a  fresh  one  in  his  mouth.  "  I'll  pay  you  what 
I  agreed — when  I  get  the  ready  cash." 

"  Think  so,  do  you,  Opal?  "  inquired  the  lumber 
man,  eying  his  man  in  growing  restlessness.  "  I 
think  diff'rent,  savvy?  I'm  onto  you  and  your  game 
with  Lawrence — you  payin'  him  twenty  thousand 

391 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

are  out,  and  you  and  I  are  caught  with  the  aces 
in  our  sleeves,  we  may  have  to  fight  back  to  back." 
He  was  edging  around  to  draw  his  pistol  unobserved. 

But  Trimmer  was  alert.  "  Stand  still,  there,  Opal, 
I've  got  the  drop,"  he  said.  "I'm  lookin'  out  fer 
number  one,  this  morning,  understand?  You  ring 
the " 

A  sudden,  loud  knock  at  the  door  broke  in  upon 
his  speech,  and  both  men  started  in  alarm. 

"  Opal !  Opal !  "  cried  a  muffled  voice  in  accents 
of  warning  just  outside  the  door,  "  Christler's  on 
your  trail !  Come  out !  Come  out  and — huh !  Too 
late !  You'll  have  to  get  out  the  window !  " 

The  roar  and  excitement  of  the  coming  crowd, 
aroused  to  a  wild  indignation,  broke  even  to  the  den. 
An  army  of  citizens,  leading  the  way  for  Christler's 
deputies,  was  storming  McCoppet's  saloon. 

He  heard,  and  a  little  understood.  He  knew  too 
much  to  attempt  to  explain,  to  accuse  even  Trimmer 
to  a  mob  in  heat.  Nothing  but  flight  was  possible, 
and  perhaps  even  that  was  a  risk. 

He  started  for  the  window.  Trimmer  leaped  be 
fore  him. 

"No  you  don't!"  he  said.  "I  told  you, 
Opal " 

"  Take  that !  "  the  gambler  cut  in  sharply.  His 
gun  leaped  out  with  flame  at  its  end;  and  the  roar, 
fire,  bullet,  and  all  seemed  to  bury  in  the  lumberman's 
body.  A  second  shot  and  a  third  did  the  same — and 
Trimmer  went  down  like  a  log. 

394 


The  Last  Cigars 

His  gun  had  fallen  from  his  hand.  With  all  his 
brute  vitality  he  crawled  to  take  it  up.  One  of  the 
bullets  had  pierced  his  heart,  but  yet  he  would  not 
die. 

McCoppet  had  snatched  up  a  chair  and  with  it 
he  beat  out  the  window.  Then  Trimmer's  gun 
crashed  tremendously — and  Opal  sank  against  the 
eill. 

He  faced  his  man.  A  ghastly  pallor  spread  upon 
his  countenance.  He  went  down  slowly,  like  a  man 
of  melting  snow,  his  cigar  still  hanging  on  his  lip. 

He  saw  the  lumberman  shiver.  But  the  fellow 
crowded  his  cigar  stump  in  his  mouth,  with  fire  and 
all,  and  chewed  it  up  as  he  was  dying. 

"  Good  shot,"  said  McCoppet  faintly.  His  head 
went  forward  on  his  breast  and  he  crumpled  on  the 
floor. 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

WASTED   TIME 

VAN  was  conveyed  to  Mrs.  Dick's.  The  fever 
attacked  him  in  his  helplessness  and  delirium  claimed 
him  for  its  own.  He  glided  from  unconsciousness 
into  a  wandering  state  of  mind  before  the  hour  of 
noon. 

His  wound  was  an  ugly,  fiery  affair,  made  worse 
by  all  that  he  did.  For  having  returned  from  his 
lethargy,  he  promptly  began  to  fight  anew  all  his 
battles  with  horses,  men,  and  love  that  had  crossed 
his  summer  orbit. 

Gettysburg,  Dave,  and  Napoleon  begged  for  the 
brunt  of  the  battle.  They  got  it.  For  three  long 
days  Van  lay  upon  his  bed  and  flung  them  all  around 
the  room.  He  hurt  them,  bruised  them,  even  called 
them  names,  but  ever  like  three  faithful  dogs,  whom 
beatings  will  never  discourage — the  beatings  at  least 
of  a  master  much  beloved — they  returned  undaunted 
to  the  fray,  with  affection  constantly  increasing. 

There  were  three  other  nurses — two  women  and 
Algy,  the  cook.  But  Beth  was  the  one  who  slept 
the  least,  who  glided  most  often  to  the  sick  man's 
side,  who  wetted  his  lips  and  renewed  the  ice  and 

396 


Wasted  Time 

gave  him  a  cooler  pillow.  And  she  it  was  who  suf 
fered  most  when  he  called  upon  her  name. 

"Beth!  Beth!"  he  would  call  in  a  wildness  of 
joy,  and  then  pass  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  repeating : 
" — this  is  the  man  I  hate  more  than  anyone  else  in 
the  world!" 

That  she  finally  knew,  that  the  tell-tale  portion 
of  her  letter  had  been  found  when  Bostwick  was 
searched — all  this  availed  her  nothing  now,  as  she 
pleaded  with  Van  to  understand.  He  fought  his 
fights,  and  ran  his  race,  and  returned  to  that  line 
so  many  times  that  she  feared  it  would  kill  him  in 
the  end. 

At  midnight  on  that  final  day  of  struggling  he 
lay  quite  exhausted  and  weak.  His  mind  was  still 
adrift  upon  its  sea  of  dreams,  but  he  fought  his 
fights  no  more.  The  fever  was  still  in  possession,  but 
its  method  had  been  changed.  It  had  pinned  him 
down  as  a  victim  at  last,  for  resistance  had  given  it 
strength. 

At  evening  of  the  seventh  day  he  had  slept  away 
the  heat.  He  was  wasted,  his  face  had  grown  a 
tawny  stubble  of  beard,  but  his  strength  had  pulled 
him  through. 

The  sunlight  glory,  as  the  great  orb  dipped  into 
purple  hills  afar,  streamed  goldenly  in  through  the 
window,  on  Beth,  alone  at  his  side.  It  blazoned  her 
beauty,  lingering  in  her  hair,  laying  its  roseate  tint 
upon  the  pale  moss-roses  of  her  cheeks.  It  richened 
the  wondrous  luster  of  her  eyes,  and  deepened  their 

397 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

deep  brown  tenderness  of  love.  She  was  gold  and 
brown  and  creamy  white,  with  tremulous  coral  lips. 
Yet  on  her  face  a  greater  beauty  burned — the  beauty 
of  her  inner-self — the  beauty  of  her  womanhood,  her 
nature,  shining  through. 

This  was  the  vision  Van  looked  upon,  when  his  eyes 
were  open  at  last.  He  opened  them  languidly,  as 
one  at  peace  and  restored  to  control  by  rest.  He 
looked  at  her  long,  and  presently  a  faint  smile  dawned 
in  his  eyes. 

She  could  not  speak,  as  she  knelt  at  his  side,  to 
see  him  thus  return.  She  could  only  place  her  hand 
upon  her  cheek  and  give  herself  up  to  his  gaze — 
give  all  she  was,  and  all  her  love,  and  a  yearning 
too  vast  to  be  expressed. 

The  smile  from  his  eyes  went  creeping  down  his 
face  as  the  dawn-glow  creeps  down  a  mountain.  Per 
haps  in  a  dream  he  had  come  upon  the  truth,  or 
perhaps  from  the  light  of  her  soul.  For  he  said 
with  a  faint,  wan  smile  upon  his  lips: 

"I  don't  believe  it,  Beth.  You  meant  to  write 
*  love  '  in  your  letter." 

The  tears  sprang  out  of  her  eyes. 

"I  did!  I  did!  I  did!"  she  sobbed  in  joy  too 
great  to  be  contained.  "  I've  always  loved  you, 
always!  " 

Despite  his  wound,  his  weakness — all — she  thrust 
an  arm  beneath  his  neck  and  pillowed  her  cheek  on 
his  breast.  He  wanted  no  further  explanation,  and 
she  had  no  words  to  spend. 


Wasted  Time 

One   of   his    arms    was    remarkably    efficient.       It 
circled  her  promptly  and  drew  her  up  till  he  kissed 
her  on  the  lips.      Then  he  presently  said: 
"  How  much  time  have  we  wasted?  " 
"  Oh,  days!  "  she  said,  warmly  blushing.      "  Ever 
since  that  night  on  the  desert." 
He  shook  a  smiling  negative. 
"  Wrong.      We've  wasted  all  our  lives." 
He  kissed  her  again,  then  sank  into  slumber  with 
the  dusk. 


399 


CHAPTER  XLVII 

A    TRIBUTE    TO    THE    DESERT 

LOVE  is  a  healer  without  a  rival  in  the  world.  Van 
proved  it — Van  and  Beth,  of  course,  together,  with 
Gettysburg,  Dave,  and  Napoleon  to  help,  and  Algy 
to  furnish  the  sauce.  All  were  present,  including 
Glen  and  Mrs.  Dick,  on  the  summer  day  of  celebra 
tion  when  at  last  Van  came  down  to  dinner.  At 
sight  of  the  wan,  wasted  figure,  Algy,  in  his  char 
acteristic  way,  fought  down  his  heathen  emotions. 

"  What's  mallah  you,  Van  ?  "  he  demanded,  his 
face  oddly  twitching  as  he  spoke.  "  Makee  evlybody 
sick!  That  velly  supers tich!  Nobody's  got  time 
cly  for  you  come  home — makee  my  dinner  spoil !  " 

He  bolted  for  the  kitchen,  swearing  in  loving 
Chinese. 

But  with  that  day  passed,  Van  soon  snatched  back 
his  own.  His  strength  returned  like  a  thing  that 
was  capable  of  gladness,  lodging  where  it  belonged. 
His  spirit  had  never  been  dimmed. 

Bostwick,  who  had  been  detained  by  the  sheriff, 
faithfully  waiting  till  Van  should  "  get  back  on  his 
feet,"  was  almost  relieved  when  his  day  for  departure 
finally  dawned.  He  was  dressed,  at  Van's  express 

400 


A  Tribute  to  the  Desert 

desire,  in  the  convict  suit  which  he  had  worn  on 
the  day  of  his  arrival. 

Van  was  on  hand  when  at  last  the  stage,  with  Bost- 
wick  and  Christler  for  passengers,  was  ready  to 
pull  up  the  street. 

"  Searle,"  he  said,  "  for  a  man  of  your  stripe  you 
are  really  to  be  envied.  You're  going  to  about  the 
only  place  I  know  where  it's  even  remotely  possible 
to  be  good  and  not  be  lonesome." 

Searle  went.  Lawrence,  perhaps  more  fortunate, 
had  managed  to  escape.  He  had  fled  away  to  Mex 
ico,  taking  the  bulk  of  his  plunder. 

Gettysburg,  Dave,  and  Napoleon  returned  once 
more  to  the  placer  and  sluices  on  the  hill.  Glen- 
more  Kent  was  of  the  party,  as  superintendent  of 
the  mine.  He  held  a  degree  from  a  school  of  mines, 
and  knew  even  more  than  he  had  learned.  Moreover, 
he  had  saved  the  gold  pilfered  by  Bostwick  and  Mc- 
Coppet. 

Then  one  sunny  morning  Van  and  Beth  were  mar 
ried  by  a  Justice  of  the  Peace.  Algy  and  Mrs.  Dick 
were  the  lawful  witnesses  of  the  rites.  The  only 
nuptial  present  was  the  gift  of  a  gold  mine  in  the 
mountains  to  the  bride. 

"  You  see,"  said  Van,  "  you  are  my  '  Laughing 
Water '  claim — and  just  about  all  I  can  handle." 

They  were  alone.  She  came  to  his  arms  and  kissed 
him  with  all  the  divinity  and  passion  of  her  nature. 
He  presently  took  her  face  in  his  hands  and  gave 
her  a  rough  little  shake. 

401 


The  Furnace  of  Gold 

"  Where  shall  we  go  to  spend  our  honeymoon?  " 
She  blushed  like  a  tint  of  sunset,  softly,  warmly, 
and  hid  her  cheek  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  Out  in  the  desert — underneath  the  sky." 


THE    END 


402 


The  rurna 


»e  or  goia 


rur 


M105414 


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